Hell Over Heels
by Someone Cynical
Summary: Meet Rhea. She's a 17 year old whizkid with a tendency to talk to the dead. When a ghost speeds her off on a mission to California, she's gonna run into a whole load of secrets, friends, enemies, lies and not-so-nice dead bad guys.
1. Prologue: Waking The Dead

Okay, so this is an add-on for the Mediator Series. Add extra mediators, extra humour, extra ghosts and lots of kick-ass action, aaaaaand...

...who's fanfic are you looking at, again? =P

**Summary:**

Pretty much the last time we saw Suze Simon, she was wiling away the time with Jesse, who is now alive, well and ticking. With both her social and love lives are picking up considerably, she's feeling good about the world.

The ghosts, however, aren't.

Romance, friendship and trust has its place in adventure; however time will reveal secrets, lies, and a path that's almost too dangerous to be true.

The one question you gotta ask is... do you believe in ghosts?

**- - -**

**Prologue: Waking The Dead  
**

The small room was lit by the eerie bluish glow of a computer screen and the feeble light of a desk lamp. Apart from the gentle, rhythmic whirring of the electrical equipment that buzzed perpetually, it was all quiet and peaceful, which was partially the point.

However, she wasn't supposed to have fallen asleep. It just wasn't _professional, _ you know?

In a corner of the room not lit by the computer monitor, the shadows moved and the air made a swift, almost imperceptible noise as if an object was moving through it at speed. A woman stepped forwards with her arms folded, looking none too impressed, glowing faintly in the darkness. Before she'd had the chance to say or do anything, an almighty noise sounded from behind the PC and accompanying pieces of gadgetry.

Um, the woman thought. She _snores?_

Without warning, the desk lamp zoomed across the tabletop and crashed to the floor, where its bulb smashed and tiny fragments of glass were scattered across the thin, dark carpet.

The head and shoulders of a teeenage girl appeared instantaneously above the monitor, only to duck down again, muttering profanities, as she'd forgotten to mind that inconveniently placed cupboard that had an ongoing disagreement with where she placed her head.

"_Jesus,_" she shouted in a loud, indignant voice. "Are you _trying _to give me some sort of brain haemorrhage?"

The ghost had to try not to smile, although her reluctant friend's question was amusing, even if it was unintentionally.

"No, I don't need to. You're doing a parfectly good job yourself."

Massaging the back of her head and shooting a glare in the ghost's direction, the teen stood - overly cautious, because cupboards and shelving units are such violent things - and picked up a leaf of paper that stuck out of a printer.

"You were asleep."

"Uh, yes. I'd noticed."

"_Asleep._"

She muttered something the ghost didn't quite catch. "No kidding. I've been screwing up my sleep pattern for you for weeks. Just 'cause it's something you don't do anymore..."

"Hey, watch it."

The teen mumbled a fractured sentence that could've been "you wanted me". Only vaguely annoyed, the ghostly apparition took the paper from the girl and scanned it quickly.

The ghost's "Guess what?" broke the silence several minutes later, after her friend had sat down again and begun throwing irritated looks at her coffee cup, which had the nerve to be empty. Life's unfair at... what time was it?

Oh. 3:57a.m.

"So, you gonna let me sleep in peace?"

"Nope. You're going to California."

"What?"

**- - -**

**

* * *

**

**A/N ::** I'm not sure how long this is gonna continue exactly, but it should be fun while it lasts. Next chapter is already in the works, so stay tuned, etc. xD


	2. Chapter 1: Deadly Serious

- - -

**Chapter 1: Deadly Serious  
**

Let me tell you a thing or two about palm trees.

Firstly, they're only good for coconuts, which in turn are only good for throwing at the heads of the really evil 'professors'. You know, the kind who think they know everything even though you KNOW you're right.

Secondly, they crop up in the most unpredictable of places.

Seriously. You could see the from the place. Tall, leafy and bright in the California sunset.

That's something else. The Sun!

Okay, so many I'm being the tiniest bit over dramatic. Despite what stereotypes would have you believe, the United Kingdom, in all its poshly-accented glory, is not either permanently darkened by clouds nor doomed to a future composed entirely of rain. Also, we don't all wear monocles and top hats.

Except on special occasions.

Back onto the palm trees.

They're damn _tall_. I'm not entirely sure what I was expecting, but it certainly wasn't the gradually darkening landscape dotted with lights from houses and the constantly moving, glistening fabric that was the sea, which was the sight that greeted me. I mean, it was practically _pretty._

If m friend was here, she'd say I don't get out enough. It's not like she found me in some stupid little windowless cubical in the centre of London - which, by the way, she didn't. Right now, I'm in a plane over another country - and another continent, I'll have you know - so, um, how much further "out" would she like me? Mars?

Although, via theories and a few less-than-sophisticated simulations I have reason to assume that it _would _be entirely possible to...

- - -

Did I mention how entirely creepy it is to be on a plane when the flight attendant says "please buckle up, we're about to land"?

Hell, if the landing is gonna be that bumpy give me a parachute and I'll jump.

My trail of thought was interrupted as someone sat down beside me. She was a young woman in a white coat with an ID badge attached to her shirt pocket - the badge said she was a medical student, that her name was Jane Lockwood and that she was registered at Oxford under a professor with too many qualifications for his own good. She made no attempt to fasten her seat belt as she sat down and looked at me with both a quizzical and condescending expression, both of which were immensely irritating.

Her appearance was slightly weird as that seat hadn't been registered to anyone when the plane had set off and the woman was, for lack of a better or more technical phrase, glowing steadily.

What? You mean I didn't mention the whole I-See-Dead-People thing?

Surprise!

Yes, I'm some kinda freak. However, I happen to think this is one of my best qualities.

My first ghostie was at the age of about four, the age when a toddler is "all grown up" and has learned just enough words to make it insanely irritating.

I was, like every young four year old with an imagination, on a secret mission.

I was off to find a small plastic frog. Obviously, at the time, it was very important.

At that particular moment, the frog was winning our little game of hide-and-seek. On the upside - if there is an upside to being outwitted by a non-sentient frog - my hunt was not entirely pointless.

Just as I was about to open a door, at which I was getting adept enough at to warrant locked doors being introduced to my home environment, someone came through it. Like any child, I accepted this fact with style: I backed off as the person walked _through _the door towards me then developed spontaneous giggles.

Whoever it was, I didn't recognize them immediately, and as such after my fit of laughter my little face was overtaken with a child's frown and I began pointing and chattering nonsensically at her.

I haven't the foggiest what it was I was trying to tell, ask or demand of her, probably something about that frog, but she freaked out the four-year-old me in a way I can't quite describe.

As it comes to it, that's probably the closest I've ever come to properly meeting my mother.

- - -

Okay, so I have parenting issues. Not many, though; I' ve never met my father and I haven't seen or heard from my long-gone mother since. I guess she's flighty and he's shy. Makes you wonder how I came around, 'cause I'm neither.

I was adopted too early for me to remember anything of my biological parents or where I lived before I was found by my more stable parents, but I don't particularly mind. If my bio-parents were all that great, they wouldn't have opted out of my life without so much as a post-it note saying "buh-bye".

As it is, my adoptive parents have been pushing their teenage daughter to go explore the world. They insist that it wouldn't be fair if they were watching my every move and peeping over my shoulder, and than instead of them I should take friends. Go explore. Be free. Kick ass, etc.

This was by no means a ploy to get rid of me. They grew up thinking they had to settle down and have kids by the time they were thirty, and they hate the idea of me being confined to such sociologically strict rules.

They also told me to come back with something shiny. I guess madness rubs off.

They're thrill seekers. My adoptive mother, Karen, is a marine biologist. She travels to practically anywhere there is water so she can go diving, studying and generally getting wet. She happens to think that the last is just an added bonus, which makes her a little weird to outsiders, but she was practically born for the water.

Also, she could seriously kick your ass with the karate she's learned and been practicing since she was nearly six years old.

My dad is a private pilot. He adores heights and anything to do with them, which is a little more than creepy. Parachuting, bungee jumping, abseiling, paragliding; you name it, he's done it.

Me? I'm something of an insane technological genius.

And I fit right in.

- - -

Despite what our air hostess lead us to believe, our landing was smooth. We touched down without so much as a headache, and as we did a new wave of chatter swept through the passengers of the plane. I simply yawned, closed my eyes and laid back, 'cause I'd been on the plane longer than I cared to think about and I was more than a little jet-lagged.

Something pointed jabbed me in the ribs a few seconds later, and the cry that followed gained me plenty of odd looks. I flashed a charming smile at the tourists who raised quizzical eyebrows high and their cameras higher, then, when they looked back at their seat partners, I shot a filthy look at my own companion. All she did was smile in return, which was, needless to say, infuriating.

I tugged my small bag halfway off the rail, then dived aside quickly as gravity got a bit carried away and pulled it down towards my head. At that point, my invisible friend had started to laugh, knowing very well that I was the only one who could hear her. By this time I was ignoring her while effecting unconcern, an expression, which, to be fair, really isn't that good. However, it must've done something, because she stopped laughing and started sulking when I walked off the plane without her.

The horizon was a mass of burnt red, bright orange and sunflower yellow. It was beautiful, in a kind of chaotic way; the shapes and colours of the clouds and sky had no particular pattern. Despite the fact that random colours aren't what I'd call pretty ordinarily, tiredness was creeping into the dark corners of my mind and thus I was able to appreciate the wash of colour that was rapidly fading to purple and dark blue.

Fatigue was impairing my observation skills, so my taxi ride from the airport to the hotel - no, sorry, the Pebble Beach Hotel & Golf Resort - is still kinda blurry. The moment I remember clearest is getting up out of the car, bags in tow, and giving the porter a casual, vague, single-fingered salute. He gave me an uneasy smile, but that might've been because I'm English and my accent is weird. He probably thought I was Australian. It wouldn't be the first time.

The Pebble Beach Hotel, I can tell you without the slightest bit of doubt, is the biggest, most expensive and poshest hotel for a considerable distance. My accommodation alone was huge, with french doors onto a balcony that overlooked both the ocean and part of the Hotel's complex. Spotlights littered the place like glow-worms, lighting up the sizable pool - filled with people, even at this time - crowds of hibiscus flowers, and the entrance to the Hotel itself. I'd have to make sure to wile away some time standing on that balcony looking serenely at the horizon.

I was so glad I was not paying for all this. That, however, does in no way mean I was entirely happy to be hanging around on the west coast of America, alone, at something-past-eight feeling like I'd been hit over the head with something heavy. Like a tree.

I dropped my bags beside the door without any kind of thought for what was in them then walked into the bedroom, where I collapsed face-first onto the bed with a muffled _thwump._ That's when my ghostly stalker finally caught up with me.

Don't get me wrong, for however many hours were were on that damned plane, she was nowhere near as stressy as I thought she'd be. I wasn't entirely sure when she'd disappeared in order for her to reappear, but I can tell you - just in case you didn't guess already - that I really wasn't bothered at that point in time.

"Are you planning on actually getting up this century?" she asked me in that annoyingly cocky tone the dead get when they're trying to badger the living into doing their biding. "Or am I going to have to go find her myself?"

"Go," I told the bed covers in a less-than-clear voice. "See if I care."

I was pretty sure, as sure as I could be with a bed obstructing my vision, that she's folded her arms by now. It was the typical stance she assumed when I was being my wonderful, typical, difficult self.

"You know I can't go without someone else to back me up..."

"You mean," I told her, conscious of how callous it would sound but not caring, "someone with a heartbeat."

"I did not," she told me in her best no-nonsense tone, "persuade my brother to fly you halfway around the world so you could sit a bitch about ghosts."

"Actually," I threw back at her as I rolled over onto my back, ever the antagonist, "I'm pretty sure that _is _ why you sent me over here on this stir-crazy mission. It was either that or you were trying to save the world. I can't quite remember which."

She sighed, as she did so often around me. "Can't you just be serious for one moment? It'd make my job a hell of a lot easier."

"Be serious? What're you trying to do, ruin my teen years?" Slowly, I sat up, mumbling, then perched on the end of the bed, which was a precarious position to take, in my state. "And no, I can't. I'm jet-lagged, no-where near home and being plagued by pesky ghosts. I can't actually believe it was the living that used to bother me."

"Then we're all screwed."

"Tough. I'm sleeping in. You've destroyed my sleeping pattern and my body clock, y'know."

She made a noise that I took to mean "Uh, am I supposed to care?"

"Bite me," was all I said. Judging by the fact I got no response and the room warmed up a little, I'm guessing she wandered off somewhere else. Probably to complain to her brother. The poor guy was a nervous wreck already... it's not like it didn't freak him out that his thirty-something-year-old sister came back as a ghost, but she came back about ten years younger too - apparently, her vitality peaked in her mid twenties. She's now around his age, and he's doing everything he can to avoid her. It's the funniest thing I've seen in ages.

Ahem.

Anyway, he's due to arrive in a few days, as Jane would say, primarily to keep me out of trouble and to make sure I don't screw up. I think she enjoys ruining my fun. Hmph.

Notwithstanding, this means I have a few days of being a tourist to fill before I'm flung into chaos and calamity.

First thing's first, though, I planned to sleep undisturbed, for once.

Twenty minutes later, clean and prepped for the biggest lie-in of my life, I covered myself in an unfamiliar duvet and tried to drown out the cold silence. It didn't take me long, I'm guessing, because I don't remember much except noticing the dodgy pattern of the ceiling and repositioning the piece of cardboard I'd managed to scavenge. With the aid of a spare bottle of tip-ex, it now read something along these lines:

'_No ghosts beyond this point. Violators will be tossed into the Underworld with a postcard for the Devil._'

Look, no-one ever accused me of being subtle. Or nice.

It worked, though. I love being right.

- - -

* * *

**  
AN ::** I just thought I'd mention inaccuracies, while I was here. If there are any that I've missed, let's just put them down to expanding creativity. 'Kay? :D

Just in case is needed clarifying: this is definitely not Suze. She's still at home with Jesse, no doubt, doing something... interesting. -cough-

Also, reviews are love & constructive criticism is even better. On that note, big thanks & cyber cookies to **Pandagirl66** for her lovely review. ^^


	3. Chapter 2: Walk Into The Light

- - -

**Chapter 2: Walk Into The Light**

Thursday dawned bright and cool, and far too early for me. Of course I'd chosen my flight perfectly, so I'd arrive here at a reasonable 'bedtime' - something I'd grown out of when I was six, by the way - and had an excuse to sleep until some obscene hour that cannot be excused for anyone but a teenager, and even then, it would be pushing it.

Unfortunately for me, bright sunlight streamed through every window and set the ocean twinkling merrily. I don't think I need to tell you that this was all a little much for my brain, and for several minutes I kept myself propped up, staring out of the window, dark hair a mess and a look of utter confusion on my face.

I felt a little stupid when I remembered the drawn-out plane ride and other flashes of the night before. Falling backwards with all the grace of an unstable elephant, I thudded back against my pillows and attempted to out-stare the ceiling.

It didn't work.

After being beaten by an inanimate object, I sighed dejectedly and climbed out of bed in a tank top and shorts. First things first, I'd have to set my stuff up. There was no way I was staying here indefinitely without a base of operations, and I didn't care what any ghost said.

I dressed down, seeing as my only plans for the day would be gently integrating myself into the life of the west coast, in a pair of loose jeans and a tank top, figuring that I'd have no need to look dazzling if my only spectators were a few spooks and the occasional member of the maintenance staff. I wasn't too scared of terrifying them.

Retracing last night steps until I found my abandoned luggage, I unzipped one of the larger suitcases and pulled out a laptop and portable modem, both of which I set on the floor beside me before routing around for other little bits and pieces of electrical equipment.

Within ten minutes I was connected to the Hotel's Wi-Fi system and was browsing for local businesses, restaurants, shops and schools. I had a purpose here, apparently, but I wasn't supposed to be privy what exactly that was. On the other hand, I'm not stupid. If it was important enough for even Jane to pursue my aid when I annoy the crap out of her, then it's got to be something big. Bigger than me, anyway. I guess it's not hard.

It's hard to keep a teenager's nose out of important stuff, especially a resourceful teen with Internet access and plenty of experience hunting for information.

I'd searched for prominent historical events, but apparently Carmel, California was as quiet a few hundred years back as it is today, minus the speeding tourists and the frequent planes.

The idea to search for monuments and buildings didn't strike me until later, after I'd recovered liquid sustenance from the kitchen - which was freakishly huge, considering that when Jane's brother arrived there would only be two of us here - then wandered back to ornately decorated glass-top table that was situated in front of the french doors I'd admired the night before. Setting down my cup of hot, decaffeinated coffee, I lazily trawled through another dozen websites before I discovered the Carmel Historical Society. I had no interest in history, but the reason was here was ghosts, so I figured anything older than a hundred years or so might give me a clue as to why the hell I'd been dragged here, of all places.

That's when I found the Mission.

The Junipero Serra Mission Academy, now a co-educational catholic school, wasn't too far from where I was staying. Later on I found that I sound see the gleaming red dome from my balcony. This interested me, because where there are old buildings, there are sure to be ghosts.

Weird that I hadn't seen a single one since I'd got here.

- - -

I enjoy sunshine. I do, honestly.

Really though, does it have to be so damn bright? All I was being was sitting peacefully, then all of a sudden I was blinded.

This happened just as I was browsing the Mission's website - apparently, they'd only recently discovered use of technology could help bring them into the world a little more. There was a little noted history and a lovely little picture of the school and the chapel, that had probably been cracked off by a kid with Photoshop. The place had a chapel, the main school, several sights to see for visitors who were far too eager and interested and something that interested me much more than anything else: a cemetery.

Now, don't get me wrong, ghosts don't hang around their graves. Even _they _find it depressing, which isn't really surprising. Who wants to hang about with a grave stone and a bunch of old bones? It's not like the mean anything to the ghosts anymore.

I suppose that's one of the reasons I've never been particularly creeped out by graveyards and bones. The ghosts' rationalisations for wanting nothing to do with what remains of themselves seems to translate onto us walking communications platforms. I always knew ghosts were infectious.

Drawing small patterns on the laptop's glide-pad, I clicked for more info and found what I was looking for. They had pretty little pictures of the grounds, students on recent trips, days out or activities. To add to that, they had a couple of captioned pictures of teachers and an online link to the school paper. Interesting.

Despite the website being tremendously vague - and under construction, no doubt - I was able to discern tht the Principle was one Father Dominic, a white-hair amiable face that was evidently smiling genially at whoever was stood behind the camera. I wondered what made the poor old guy even consider teaching kids; his school covered everything from screaming toddlers to difficult teens. I bet that picture was taken on his day off.

My innocent - honest! - snooping was cut short about then, when I heard a strange _bzzz, bzzz_ sound and then a familiar tune emanating from somewhere behind the laptop.

I picked up and then stared at the phone for a minute mutely and looked at the LED display.

Then groaned. I recognised that number.

This so wasn't going to be as fun as I'd hoped.

"Helloo," I said, enthusiastic and cheerful, and with extra syllables. "How might I be on service on this fine Tuesday?"

I looked at my watch, then realised I didn't have one. Instead, I looked at the clock on the wall behind me. Something past ten. Damn.

"Rhea, is that you?" a soft male voice quieried. "You sound funny."

"Of course not," I was now examining my nails with an expression of pained neutrality. "I'm the Queen, pleased to meet you."

I'm afraid to say my tone was bored and anything but patient. I was almost positive that Jane was listening in on the other end of the phone, muttering to herself and chastising her brother for letting me be so cavalier.

"Oh-kay,"he said with exaggerated slowness. "I'm guessing you got there without any major issues, then?"

"You mean apart from your sister stalking me, being mistaken for some Australian kid and being blinded by the Sun? I'm just fine." There wasn't a word I gave voice to that didn't ooze sarcasm.

"Yeah, well, get used to it. I'll arrive soon enough with Jane's notes..." he trailed off and I heard paper rustling. I cringed. This was gonna be college all over again, but worse, and with a heck of a lot more ghosts.

"I'm going to pack, make sure I have collected a few samples of stuff and updated my computer..."

I buried my face in the hand that wasn't holding the phone to my ear. "Hey. Hey! Earth to Mark. I don't need your secret mission shopping list."

He sighed yet maintained the same placidity all "adults" used when they were dealing with an obstinate teen. "You still sore that I- _we _sent you halfway around the world without knowing what you're supposed to do?"

I guess underestimation is genetic. Now they're both at it. If they think they're gonna be able to keep secrets with me around, they've got another thing coming.

"No, it's just that you American folk scare me."

"Thanks," he muttered, sounding distracted.

"Oh, you're welcome. And you can tell Jane to stop being melodramatic with her tales about me, otherwise she'll find herself in a hole in the ground. Again."

"Chill, okay?" he told me uncomfortably.

I'd predicted correctly: his sister was bugging him but he didn't want to say anything - despite Jane's ability to hold a grudge, Mark was fiercely attempting to uphold the lie that he was glad his sister has come back from the dead to haunt him.

He already knew that that was not the kind of distaste I was aching to hide, personally.

"Anyway, I'll be out there in a few days. Hang tight and be nice. I'll let you in on a few things when I get there. I don't like these phonelines."

Ignoring his endeavour to be charitable, I shot back another, uh, _succinct_ retort. "Dude, they use satelites now. It's called technology."

"Rhea," he sounded pissed now. Oops. "Go away."

Did I mention, Mark _always _gets childish when he's annoyed?

"Gladly. Just make sure you keep that sister of yours in a cage and away from me."

I heard what could only have been Jane's angry protests and insults as I hung up, satisfied.

You just can't keep a good girl down.

- - -

Alright, so my plans for the day kinda went out of the window.

I wasn't going to go out. I was going to stay inside, bake in the greenhouse that was my room, and catch up on a little me time - or, if that failed, sleep.

I did no such thing.

It took ten, maybe fifteen minutes on the Hotel's shuttle bus to get to the Mission, by a long circuitous route that gave great views of the ocean. As the only tourist without a camera, I felt left out, but I was pretty sure no-one else was here for ghosts, either, so I at least felt consistent and, uh, unique.

I suppose I could've waited to dive out of my front door into the sunny world, but patience really isn't one of my dominant character traits.

The Mission's red dome glowed brightly in the sunlight as the tourists trouped off the bus and into the overflowing car park. We were welcomed graciously by one of the Sisters, or so I presumed, then ushered into the halls to decide which sight we wanted to see first. I followed the main crowd for a while, hoping to get my bearings quickly then be able to skulk around the oldest part of the school without attracting too much attention. There was no-one in the halls except the occasional hall monitor; however, it was approaching twelve, to I figured it wouldn't be long unil someone showed up to ruin my plans. I really did not need a school for of sixteen- and seventeen-year-olds staring at me as I made my way to the graveyard of their school, of all places.

One of the hall monitors, preoccupied with some kind of business, gave me a glare as she rustled past, one that I honestly don't think I deserved. It wasn't as if I was skipping lessons or planning to blow up the school. Who did she think she was?

The tourists, unfortunately, decided to lurk beneath the open breezeway to admire the palmtrees and the foutain in the courtyard. I think I was quite restrained when I refrained from moving in behind them and giving them an almighty shove.

Though, it would've been funny.

I looked down at my watch - I'd been lying when I'd said I didn't own one; I found it accidentally when it fell out of a pair of socks I'd been arguing with - and thought vaguely of how helpful stopping time would be. I had eveything I needed in the bag I carried over my shoulder, but it'd be awkward to get anything out then have to answer questions like "Why did you bring such odd 'tools' to a school that you don't attend?"

Um, well. I'm impersonating MacGuyver.

I slipped away and around the other side of the courtyard, hoping I'd find some quiet exit which would enable me access to the church grounds, because who the hell puts a graveyard right next to the kids' playground? Not even the Americans did that.

As I walked, all the doors opened, and I sighed. Moving to the side of the breezeway, I stood in the shade of the structure and leaned against a column, arms folded and what could possibly have been a contemptuous expression on my face. I don't imagine I looked too happy.

Floods of people passed me, throwing curious glances at my very dark curls, my lack of sunglasses and my favourite pair of boyfriend-fit jeans. I know I didn't look anything like a typical run-of-the-mill tourist, but I don't care for false first impressions.

Dark, light, blue, brown, green eyes watched me carefully as I stood. I had a feeling they were waiting for something to happen, especially when some pretty girl with half a dozen minions whispered something conspiratorially and got a laugh. She was hushed quickly, but she kept her face in tune with the smugness that she now emitted as she looked at me. I raised a single eyebrow, amused but silent, until I realised what she was waiting for.

A voice was making its way down the hall towards the courtyard. No, I didn't make a mistake; the voice preceeded the person by about a decade. I figured I was safe for now.

The voice was loud, chastising and condescending and it was yelling at someone for their lack of something I couldn't make out. Maybe someone forgot their Bible.

Laughter broke again, and a crowd made their way out of a classroom, lingering to wait for their slow-coach comrades. The laughing one was an albino with a quick eye and a wicked smile, who was talking to some kid who was sneered at by every 'jock' who passed.

By now I had my eyes half-closed and I was shutting off all senses except hearing. Nothing much interested me here, because the only thing I'd found school was good for was the lessons. If I could have been accused of anything in high school, it was cutting lunch. It didn't please the teachers, but they never had to repeat themselves when it came to lessons. I was always way ahead of them.

I was still getting curious glances from people who passed, less frequently now, but I suspect that was partly because whoever was shouting behind me still hadn't gone hoarse yet and they were trying to escape quickly.

Someone across the hall was trying to catch my eye, I noticed late. I blinked at looked at him properly, and my first thought was that he'd just jumped out of a Wimbledon match. I caught myself before I started to laugh, but I guess he must've caught a hint of a smile because he raised his eyebrows. His brown hair curled delicately but much more finely than my hair did; his olive skin had a gentle, sunkissed look to it, and he held himself with a confidence that is commonly mixed with arrogance. As I watched him, he stood upright from where he'd been leaning against what I guessed was his locker.

He would probably have spoken to me if there hadn't been the distant thuds of a giant bouncing down the hall towards us. Shame.

That giant just happened to be a nun. I probably should have reprimanded myself for insulting her, despite not knowing who she was; however, this is me, and to me she was exactly the same as the next person, and I'd treat her as such.

I hadn't noticed before but she was walking with a purpose and glaring malevolently at me. Uh oh, this should be good.

A cross dangled around her neck and her expression was one of screwed up determination and anger. I almost told her she looked like some kind of fish out of water.

"And just _what_ do you think you're doing?" she demanded in a voice that told me she was a) used to getting her own way and b) already plotting my doom.

"Standing," I told her tonelessly. "I could move if you want."

When she'd stopped to talk to me, the halls had gone silent. I put this down to either lunchtime entertainment or a tyrannical influence. Probably both. They might be grateful if I stomped on her a bit. Oooh, fun.

She didn't look pleased. My accent seemed to confuse her, but that's understandable. Sort of.

Was it wrong that I was enjoying myself already...?

"Would you like me to tell your parents of your disagreement with school regulations?" she asked tartly.

"You'd have a job, but you're welcome to try."

"Continue the way you're going young lady and you'll be in detention for inappropriate attire _and _a disrespectful attitude!"

Oh no. She was yelling again.

I guess I could see her point. I looked just like a student, apart from the fact I had no textbooks and I'd spoken to no-one since I'd gotten here. She seemed to ignore the painfully obvious. How awful it must be to be so clueless.

"Actually, I think I've been pretty polite so far," I told her softly and carefully. "I've no objection to being bitchy, though."

That got a laugh. It burst out of someone the sister stared down, although she couldn't suppress the murmuring that swept through the crowd of spectators.

"My office, now!"

"Er, no," I immediately abandoned my neutral voice and adopted a more to-the-point one that had gotten me through more than one misunderstanding.

"You'll move now, otherwise I shall bring Father Dominic down here, and he shall--"

"Is it true," I interrupted her again, curiosity painting my tone of voice, "that you confine visitors to the strict dress code of the Mission Academy?"

She went white. I don't think I've ever won an argument in such spectacular _style_.

"Oh." Was all she said. "If you'll follow me to the Principle's office, miss, we'll be able to sort things out..."

Her voice had gone from demanding to quiet and polite in the space of ten seconds.

I rock.

The crowds surrounding us were now telling and retelling the tale of their evil dictator's defeat at the hands of a strange English girl. There was muffled laughter from various corners of the courtyard and hushed whispers as we went past, but I ignored them. I was far too happy with my own victory.

With long strides I followed the Sister, my head held high and just a slight smile lifting the corners of my mouth. It's so hard to beat that sense of pride you get when you give someone deserving of it a taste of their own medicine.

The sister remained silent and didn't say anything more to me until we reached the Principle's office.

Hahaha.

- - -

Father Dominic was just the kind I'd expected him to be: old, gentle, warm, friendly and far too nice for his own good. Sister Ernestine, for that was her name, was, by all accounts, extremely sorry for her unfounded assumptions and the 'telling off' she'd given me.

"I really must apologise," Father Dominic was saying for the umpteenth time "The Sister is quite strict with the students, but she means the best. I honestly hope-"

All the time we'd been talking, I'd notices his vision flickering anxiously to an object over my left shoulder - I knew it wasn't a person, because when I'd come in and looked around, the good father was entirely alone in his room, including any spooky visitors. By this time, I was already trying exceedingly hard not to smile, but it was hard: the poor guy looked so unnerved it was comical.

"Look, Father," I interrupted him swiftly yet casually before he was able to slip in another apology. "It's gonna take more then one of your school's teachers mistaking me for a juvenile delinquent to offend me." I smiled warmly at him. "Relax."

To say he looked surprised at my little interjection would've been an understatement.

When he'd finished fiddling with whatever he had in his hands, probably a piece of string of fabris or something,he put his hands on the desk between us and, with a very slight twitch of the fingers, glanced again at what he saw over my shoulder. Maybe he had an appointment.

"Well," he began steadily enough after a significant pause. "I'm not certain I can say much more to that. Please, feel more than free to continue exploring the Mission at your leisure."

"Thanks, Father," I flashed him my most charming smile. "Will do."

As I stood up, I reached down and grabbed hold of the strap of my bag, lifted it up off the ground and then slid the single, long strap over my shoulder and head until it drew a diagonal line across my person, from shoulder to hip.

As I opened the door, I gave the lurking Jane a sly smile in return for a filthy look, as well as the questioning raised eyebrow that she hates.

Once again, I heard father Dominic shifting uncomfortably in his seat, but by the time the door clicked gently shut, Dr Lockwood was long gone ans I knew _exactly _what I was doing in Northern California.

- - -

* * *

**  
AN :: **I'm actually really quite please at how well this chapter turned out. I had plans, of course -shifty- but I think this better than some of the ideas I had previously.

How many familiar faces did you recognise? :D

Please review, point out inconsistencies, give hints/tips. Thank you (:

Also, cyber cookies to whoever can point out someone else who was making a point of being 'as succinct as possible'. ;D

I promise that Suze shall emerge in the next chapter. Pinky promise. (:


	4. Chapter 3: Spooky

**- - -**

**Chapter 3: Spooky**

Same old bat time. Same old bat place.

As usual, I was sat in the Principle's office instead of my morning class.

And, as usual, it was because Father Dominic was on one of his daily rants.

This one happened to be about Jesse.

Alright, so he wasn't urging me to wait until the two of us were married to, uh, give into our undying lust (oh, yeah, right) for one another. He was just on about Jesse's 'exceptionally important reintegration' into the living and breathing community and my boyfriend's latest hobby: job hunting.

"He's found a small studio apartment in the Valley," Father D was saying, blissfully ignorant of the fact that I was much more interested in his window's view of the ocean. "Simply perfect for his needs. Also, I've managed to call in some, ah, help and put together a valid birth certificate and sufficient credentials as to get him by for now, at least."

"Uh huh," This was my favourite non-committal noise of late, one I used rather a lot around poor Father D when he was giving his speeches. Needless to say, I didn't enjoy them very much.

He sighed, probably because he realised I hadn't been listening.

"Onto more pressing issues, Susannah," he cleared his throat to get my attention.

I looked at him, suspicious but focused for the first time in half an hour.

"You've decided to upgrade the cafeteria?"

"No, Susannah. Decidedly more ghostly issues."

Oh. This was _that_ talk.

"I haven't seen any. Not even a smudge of ectoplasm." I informed him, unable to keep the note of pride out of my voice. "Obviously we're doing something right. Or no-one's croaked recently."

Father Dominic gave me the sympathetic expression he saves for the depraved or the non-believers such as myself. I suppose I should try harder to feel even a tiny bit of empathy for the poor suckers I banish to the afterlife.

On the other hand, it is kinda hard to contain my relief at being rid of them. My lack of compassion is one of the reasons for Father D's despair.

"I didn't call you here to ask about your incidents with the deceased, however I am profoundly glad that none have crossed your path recently."

I was a little hurt by that. Was I _really _that bad at dealing with ghosts?

I wasn't lying, though. Since Jesse's, uh, rebirth, the only ghost the two us us had seen put together was my Dad, and we both knew he wouldn't be turning up unannounced anymore.

"Sooo," I dragged out the word as long as possible, hoping to drag Father Dominic's point out of him before I hit fifty.

"We seem to have a girl with a seemingly hostile ghostly companion." he said in a rush.

That was unusual. Ordinarily, it's me who runs into - all too frequently and literally, if you ask me - the wandering souls of the undead.

Nevertheless, Father Dominic's discovery meant that my social life for the next week was as good as cancelled.

Damn ghosts.

There was a pause.

"So, you want me to find the person, or talk to the spook?" No problem. I was pretty eager to be rid of this, but come on, I'd only just got my social life on track and rolling. I did not need any more ghosts messing it up again.

"Susannah..." he began.

"Anyone I know?" I continued, musing but not listening; I was contemplating on all the warm nights with Jesse I'd miss out on because of this.

Father D sheepishly interrupted me. "Susannah, I'm not entirely sure of her name." was his sheepish explanation.

I stared at him.

And blinked.

"How can you not know who she is if you run the school?" I asked slowly, bemused.

"She doesn't attend, Susannah," Father D said with regret. "She was brought over to me yesterday by Sister Ernestine, after a small misunderstanding."

Oh. _Oh._

The whole school was talking about Sister Ernestine's little run-on with some kick-ass bitch from England. The renditions of the incident got even more insane as time progressed, but one thing's for sure: the nun's pride has been crushed in a way that can only be accounted for by complete defeat.

"You mean the kid who gave Sister Ernestine an earful in front of half the high schoolers?"

He winced at my, uh, blunt terminology. "That would be the one," he confirmed, somewhat glumly. "She said her name was Vetris, but I never did get her first name. The only other thing I found out was that she was visiting from out of town."

Yeah. And that hadn't been obvious from the accent with which she spoke.

I was kinda sore that I'd missed the Sister's humiliation - I'd been on my way to the student council meeting - _joy_ . At the previous weekly gathering of peers, associates and adolescents, Kelly had told me that if I were late once more because of anything other than class, she'd drop kick my butt off the council faster than you could say "you're out".

And I know what Ceecee would do to me if I lost my vice-presidency over mere tardiness.

"Is that it?" I asked, feeling stupid. I think it was hitting the both of us just how long it's take to track down someone with only half a name, especially if they were only visiting Carmel.

Which, in case you were wondering, was sure to be a long time.

Which _sucked._

I'd probably have to sacrifice more than a feel of my social life. Damn damn.

"We'll have to look around. I wondered if Paul might help."

Whoa. The situation must be bad, if Father D was opting to enlist Paul's help, knowing full well that he was a worse reputation for kicking ghosts' butts than I do. And as far I was aware, both Paul and Father D seemed to have come to a mutual agreement to ignore the one another's existence.

How I hated being the middle man.

"You sure about that?" I asked, trying to sound off-hand rather than concerned.

"Not entirely, Susannah," he sighed once again, "but we require all the help we can get."

He was not wrong there.

"What exactly are you planning on having us do?" I queried, suspicious again.

"We'll have to keep our eyes open and search the local hired accommodation for any regular, um, haunts, of our ghostly friend."

That ghost can go choke on the irony, I thought bitterly.

- - -

"Honestly, it was the funniest thing I've seen in ages."

For the third time this lunch, Ceecee was helping Adam narrate the events of Sister Ernestine and the Girl With Attitude.

I hadn't really been listening; my corn dog was in my hand an I was deciding whether or not hunger was worth being poisoned.

"Anyone know who she was?" I asked abruptly, surprising even myself.

"Um. No." Ceecee seemed weirded out by my sudden question. "I'm not sure anyone knew her. I've never seen her around before."

"I heard she's staying somewhere close," Adam said from his position, sprawled out on the floor next to our picnic table. "She took the bus when she left."

"How'd you know that?" Ceecee demanded, stung.

"I'm exceptionally observant," Adam immediately responded. Ceecee's trig book hit him in the side of his the head, and he faked a dramatic death scene. Most of the crowd around us laughed. The two were dating, if by dating you mean they were together in every meaning of the word except neither of them would admit it. It was irritating at times, but hey, who am I to stand in the way of love?

Adam mumbled something about unfair violence and Cee glared at him. Same old, same old.

"Hey. Save it, you two." I said, making Adam grin and the albino flush a furious magenta.

That lunch, I'm pretty sure every kid who passed by the courtyard that Heather - you remember her, right? Crazy homicidal maniac...? - had almost ruined was looking for whoever it was who had shown up and then disappeared again yesterday. This included me, although I knew full well that she wouldn't be there. It's never that simple with ghosts and their living counterparts.

"Watch it, Simon," a voice drawled just in front of me. I blinked several times in rapid succession as I came back to reality.

"Oh. Hi." I told Paul as I paused, mid-step.

"Dazed, much?" he asked me, evidently amused.

"Not often," I countered defensively.

"Sure," he replied with an easy smile and just a little sarcasm.

By now most people were filtering out of the halls, 'cause the metaphorical bell had rung and it was time for class again. Why did Paul always choose this time to stalk me?

"Father D needs your help, by the way," I told him in a low voice, making sure I wasn't overheard by the novices who were getting more twitchy by the second.

He raised an eyebrow. "Why on Earth would the good Father need me?"

I sighed. He just _had _ to make stuff complicated.

"We've got some girl running round with a ghost following her."

"It's not you is it? I know how fond you are of ghosts and stuff-"

I shot him down with "If it was me, I wouldn't be telling you."

He looked thoughtful for a moment. "Good point," he conceded.

"So," he continued after a moment. "Anyone I know?"

"You hear about Sister Ernestine's run in yesterday?" I asked.

"Suze, I was _there_. Stop changing the subj-"

"So you saw the girl. Did you get a good look at her face?"

For a moment he didn't seem to comprehend what I'd said and so just stood where he was, looking blankly at me. Then the realisation dawned, and he smirked in a way that told me yes, he'd got a very good look.

"We gotta find her," I said, trying to draw the conversation along. "Otherwise..."

"Otherwise what, Suze? You know I'm not good with charity cases." I'd started walking away, and so he'd used a statement that he knew I'd never be able to resist commenting on. Damn him to hell.

"So you're gonna miss out on talking to the oblivious pretty chick 'cause you're no good with ghosts?"

Paul gave me one of the contemplative looks he adopts when I surprise him. I still don't think he's realised that I'm exceptionally kick-ass.

"Just think on it, Paul. Tell when you've decided she's worth it."

I felt smug. It's such a shame I was heading to Math class - I'd have felt better if I knew I wasn't suddenly gonna be overrun with algebra.

Seriously, what're letters doing in mathematical equations, anyway?

- - -

Have I ever mentioned that, if you want to hear a story re-told, that Dopey _really_ isn't the person you should go to?

For the fiftieth time in twenty-four hours, he was telling us - with accompanying hand gestures - of how Sister Ernestine's days are numbered, how he'd started a rebellion in the name of the students and whoever it was had shot the Sister down. He'd detoured from the actual events of yesterday - I could tell this straight away without actually having been present at the event in question.

His story would've probably sounded more plausible if he'd added a few dragons.

"Brad," I interjected quickly before he had a chance to start again. "How about you give the storytelling a rest and actually focus on the driving?"

He cursed a few times, a habit he has when he can't think of a good enough retort (which, to be fair, happens quite often) then sulked as he turned onto Pine Crest Road.

Half the driveway was taken up by someone else's car, and this did not improve my stepbrother's mood. Muttering increasing colourful curses, he slammed the parking brake on, turned off the engine, yanked the keys out of the ignition and got out of the car without a word. Me and Doc exchanged looks before heaving ourselves and our baggage out of the Jeep.

This was when I looked at the other car's liscence number, and thought it looked familiar. Frowning, I stumbled up the front door still wondering where I'd seen the car before.

"Suzie," my mom called as I stepped inside, "there's someone waiting for you upstairs."

"Anyone I know?" I yelled back, my foot already on the first step.

My mom's head appeared around the door. "Very funny, Suze."

Already I was halfway upstairs and not paying attention. I had a hunch now, and felt stupid for not realising sooner.

It's Wednesday. Jesse's always here Wednesday.

Why did he have to come the day I was, metaphorically, plagued with ghosts?

Deep in thought, I flung the door open then stopped quite suddenly in the doorway, contemplative.

There he was, sat on my on the seat of my bay window, just like he used to when he was his old ghostly self. Spike was, as was the norm whenever Jesse was around, sat on his knee, purring like a tank while Jesse scratched behind his ears and hummed softly to himself.

I was, as usual, completely caught up for a moment by how awesome my life had turned out, all of a sudden. Jesse looked up and blinked once, probably weirded out by how odd I was acting.

Although, really, he should be more than used to it by now.

"Um. Hi." I said, finally figuring out how to get my legs to propel me into the room and m arms to dump my bags somewhere out of the way.

"Susannah," Jesse smiles in that way that makes my heart melt. _Every time._

"How was your day?" he asked, looking down at Spike for a moment, as the cat as stretched a paw out and batted Jesse's hand to get his attention. Damn cat.

I sat down heavily on the edge of the bed, hoping my less-than-sunny mood went unnoticed.

Yeah. No such luck.

"What is it?" Jesse asked me abruptly, just as I'd opened my mouth to prattle on about how Father D said hi, school's all going good, yada yada yada.

"What's what?" I said, feigning innocence.

"What," he continued, looking at me pointedly, shifting Spike aside so he could stand up and tower over me with all his six-and-a-bit feet, "has got you looking so..." he trailed off, surveying me with the warm, dark eyes I love so much.

"Surprised?" I queried. "Confused? Annoyed? Shifty?"

Constipated?

"Discontent," he said softly, after a moment. He sat down beside me and stared me in the eyes in a way that made me feel as though he had X-ray vision. Oh yeah, my boyfriend, the back-from-the-dead superhero.

"Um." was all I said.

"Susannah," Jesse murmured quietly, "talk to me."

He'd reached for my hand, but instead of clinging on, which would've been my usual response, all I did was let myself fall backwards onto my carefully stacked cushions.

Why does he always know what I'm thinking?

"Ghosts," I told him, with not a hint of bitterness in my voice.

He raised an eyebrow. The tiny white scar about it whitened slight against his lightly tanned skin - it reminded me so much of the times I'd noticed the exactl same scar while Jesse was suffering through his last few ghostly months.

"What did it - they, whoever - want?"

"The ghost? I don't' know. Father D noticed her, but..."

"But?" he was nudging my pieced-together explanation along with as much patience as he could muster, I knew.

"But," I propped myself upright on my elbows and valiantly attempted to continue with some kind of purposeful tone, "she disappeared before he could say anything."

"Why is Father Dominic so concerned?"

I peered at him suspiciously. "Have you been talking to him?" I asked, wondering why the hell he'd let me explain if he already knew. He shook his head gently.

"Not today, Susannah. I haven't spoken to him since Monday."

"Oh," I stated, defeated. "Well, apparently some chick with attitude has done something that mean this ghost's tailing her wherever she goes."

"And?" There he was, nudging again.

"And," I emphasized the word so much it almost sounded like a complaint, "Father D wants us all out looking for her. Them," I corrected myself automatically.

There was an awkward pause. I sighed, then plowed on, abandoning all attempts at subtlety and tact.

"With Paul."

"Susannah..." Jesse interjected with that low tone that made me wish I'd never brought the subject up.

"Jesse," I interrupted before I could get the This-Really-Isn't-A-Good-Idea speech. "Relax. Father D said so. He thinks we need all hands on deck, especially if we have some spook with murderous tendencies out to get someone..." the _very _ last thing I needed right now was a murder.

After a while, he nodded. "I'll come with you."

I relaxed. Not only had I been going to ask him, I would've insisted - I don't frequently go ghost hunting with Paul, but I had the vaguest idea that it really wasn't going to be very fun. Besides, there' hardly been a chance that Jesse had said he wouldn't go; he's far too gentlemanly for that. Compared to those of one hundred and fifty years ago, manners nowadays really suck.

Jesse chuckled softly to himself, obviously finding my manner amusing. Huh. I threw my pillow at him. With complete ease he caught it, dumped it back on the bed beside him and smiled. In spite of myself, I laughed.

I like Wednesdays.

- - -

The phone rang.

"Hello," I answered, "House of Weird. Who's calling?"

"Uh, okay. Can I talk to the vaguely sane Suze for a minute?"

"Paul?" I felt drowsy, suddenly. "What is it?"

"Jesse's there, isn't he?" he seemed amused.

It's infuriating that he can read me so easily.

"He just left. Why?" I sounded suspicious, but I didn't particularly care. "Not planning any kind of supernatural voodoo, are you?"

"Uh, no. Actually, the opposite. Keeping my open mind on benevolence towards the spirit folk, as it were. When were you planning on making your ghostly excursion with lover boy?"

"Hey, hold up, hotshot," I told him. "You're not coming with us."

"You said it yourself, you need my help. Even good old Father Dominic agreed. You're not getting out of this one."

I started to mutter under my breath, annoyed. Men. Obstinate, stuck up, egotistical...

"Suze?"

"Fine," I grumbled. "We're starting tomorrow. Just, one thing."

"Be good? Aren't I always?"

"Play nice," I told him tiredly.

"You know me, Suze..." he hung up with what I'm sure was cut-short laughter.

Yeah, I know you, Paul. That's why I don't want you screwing this up.

_Again._

I dropped the phone back into place then turned around. Spike was settled nicely on his pillow on my bay window - curtains closed, window tight shut - my schoolbags were shoved in a corner where no-one would trip over them, and I was stood, unusually drowsy, in the middle of my bedroom waiting for the right time to collapse into the waiting arms of irresistable slumber.

I was so damn glad I had no geometry homework.

The lights extinguished themselves when I clapped, and I wormed my way under the covers and landed face down in my pile of pillows. Sleep came willingly, I found. I could have almost slept for a week.

I wasn't welcomed by all-encompassing unconsciousness, however. I wound myself walking through a familiar door-lined corridor, with thin, smoky tendrils curling around my ankles.

I was pretty sure I was dreaming.

My steps echoed eerily as I moved forward. Instead of the terrifying silence I was used to when I stood here, I heard a faint roaring noise that reminded me of the distant noise the ocean makes when you listen carefully on a quiet night. I moved forwards a little more quickly, nervous and on edge.

The noise was oddly comforting and, if I closed my eyes tightly and put enough effort into it, it was sufficient that I could practically see, taste and small the ocean before me. After a minute I could breathe again.

When my eyes finally opened, slowly, I was back in that corridor, starlight seeping down through what could've been tiny pinprick holes in the ceiling, twinkling with cold indifference.

It's one thing to be alone in a place that out hate; it's quite another to know that the place you hate and fear the most could well be the last place you'll see.

I was shivering ridiculously in a breeze that wasn't there; I could feel something slow, cold and murderous crawling into my heart and I couldn't even move to stop it taking a hold on me. After what could have, possibly, been decades, I wrenched myself away from the cluster of doors and stumbled awat, where I plowed headfirst into a heavy, lurking mist that stretched... forever.

My first thought was to try and waft it away; my second was to continue running right on through. My third was to turn and run back the way I'd come. Evidently I was not feeling myself: had I been, I'd have chosen the ever elusive option D: kick the crap out of whoever had summoned me here.

The roaring was growing louder, along with a very faint spectral glow quite a way off in the distance, further than I've ever travelled in the in-between. It stretched as far as I could see to either side and seemed to ripple like wind over water. It was strange but mesmerising.

To my distaste, I was getting colder as minutes progressed. The moisture in the air was practically freezing into little droplets of ice around me. Give it a minute and it'd be like my own personal hailstorm.

That's when I noticed it.

That spectral entity was headed straight for me, all bluish grey and glowy. It wasn't water. Or wind, even. It was nowhere even close.

It was ghosts.

Hundreds, maybe, I was in too much shock to count. I sucked in a sharp breath and realised they seemed to be skipping through cracks in the walls beside doors, all of white stood motionless, desolate and now pretty much obsolete.

As a mass of pure paranormal energy, they swarmed, figures blurring into one another seamlessly.

Coming _my _way.

Turning and running wasn't an option. I'm not stupid nor egotistical enough to think I can take over a hundred ghosts at ones. I didn't even have the kind of concentration left that would help me catapult myself back to reality. I was well and truly stuck.

As the sea of ghostly faces loomed towards me, I tried to step backwards. My feet felt heavy, but I moved. Barely.

Oh no, I couldn't stop myself thinking. Someone help me.

I braced myself as the ghostly tidal wave crashed and roared towards me. I screwed up my face, threw up my arms and hoped to God that something would intervene and stop me being crushed by a few tonnes of the unhappy dead.

I felt nothing. Not even the slightest rustle you get when someone walks quickly past you.

When I opened my eyes, I was greeted by excessively lacy canopy of my four-poster and a blinking clock that told me it was twelve minutes past four.

Oh, and my heart racing so fast it had breached the sound barrier.

- - -

* * *

**AN :: **I SO TOLD YOU SHE'D SHOW UP.

On another note, I'm trying different viewpoints. For the minute I have no plans to go any further than the two we've seen, though this may be subject to change.

Muffins have been left out by the review table, because apparently no-one likes cookies anymore. =[

To end on a high note, though...

WHO YA GUNNA CALL?


	5. Chapter 4: Drop Dead Disastrous

**Chapter 3: Drop Dead Disastrous**

I honestly have no idea why I bother with people.

After my little excursion, I had my every footstep mirrored by a majorly pissed off ghostie. On the bus, the ground floor of which was, unfortunately for me, entirely devoid of people with the exception of the driver, I ignored the spectral apparition sitting opposite me by plugging in the teeny iPod I'd brought with me, propping my feet up and closing my eyes. I heard muttering, and I am pretty sure it was not the driver, as last I looked he was whistling merrily to himself. They grow strange folk out here.

Personally, I think it's kinda impressive that Jane resisted throttling me.

Anyway, I made it back to the Pebble Beach Hotel quite quickly, so I let myself meander my way back to my room. After all, the only thing awaiting me there was probably an e-mail from someone back home and an angry spook. I wasn't particularly impatient to get back to either right at that minute.

Sure enough, as soon as I had closed the door and rested my key on the short table that stood by the door, there was an impatient foot-tapping from behind me. Sighing, I turned and ran straight into... no-one. Uh oh.

Slipping off my light jacket and tossing it over the back of a chair, I stood facing the room and the french doors with my hands on my hips, a non-too-impressed look on my face. This was a little too cliché for me.

Spinning around, I made a theatrical performance of jumping at the sight of a truly murderous Jane.

"Uh, hi, I didn't see you there," my cheery voice had absolutely no effect on her facial expression. Huh. I am going to have to work on my charm.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" she demanded as if I hadn't said anything. In response all I did was raised an eyebrow.

"I was--"

"Trying to get yourself noticed? Well, congratulations, you did it."

Oh, yawn.

"You do realise there's a difference between knowing me and know _of _me?"

"We told you to lay low! How does being reckless fit into that category?"

"Have you considered for a second that telling a _teenager,_" I stressed the word as much as I could without writing it down and underlining it, "to do something is about as clever as telling water not to be wet? Or that by keeping me in the dark you have given me perfect motivation to throw everythign you say out the window and do what I please?"

I had her there. Ha, ha, ha.

My bag was so in my hand, so, humming amiably, I stepped backwards to rest it next the the hibernating laptop and an empty coffee cup.

Speaking of coffee...

I was just eyeing up the dispenser when Jane's voice drifted into my head again, screwed up to an annoying high pitch and whining about my ignorance.

"Ignorance is bliss," I told her without really listening.

She sighed. Oh, here we go.

"You have no reason to care, but we do actually have a purpose here and if you blow our cover we're..." she'd trailed off doubtfully, so I, quite helpfully, I think, I finished her sentence.

"Doomed, etc."

I'm not sure what about this reply irritated her, but I'm beginning to think it's got something to do with my entire person. Usually she's fine with me, however, recently, she's gained a quality that's made her easy to piss off. Either that or I've gotten really, really good at it.

I wonder if they hold an annoy-a-thon at the Olympics...?

Jane seemed to have run out've steam now, but I wasn't particularly interested. If this was anything like normal, she'd be rubbing her forehead with a troubled expression and muttering to herself under her breath. Then she'd look at me and be instantly ticked off again.

What can I say? I have a gift.

"Whatever. This is important, whether you know it or not. You should listen to me more often."

"Uh-huh," I said. I could hear every word, but it was impossible to resist feigning a complete disregard for her words.

I turned around to face her with a sly smile, but all I got in return was a look that almost wounded.

Almost.

You could tell quite easily that Jane was used to getting her own way. All five foot ten of her stood tall and upright, dark blonde hair straightened and held out of her face perfectly. Normally I'd call her pretty, but the scowl that decorated her face kinda made her look a little more evil at that minute. Brown eyes followed my every movement with eerie ease, and tasteful manicured nails bit into her folded arms. The white coat that she wore over her everyday clothes was pristine, but a stain, speck or even a smudge of colour anywhere. The badge that identified her as a student - she must've been about a decade older than her ghost looked when she'd died, 'cause I know she was most definitely not a student then - hung from the pocket that held a black, blue and red pen. The mandatory picture was of Jane wearing her favourite expression: the one that said 'this is a waste of time and because of this I shall remain contemptuous'. She uses that expression an awful lot when dealing with me.

She was dressed, apart from the white coat, in simple clothing: a navy blue V neck T-shirt, faded jeans that were more grey than black now and a pair of ankle boots with a shiny buckle on the side. Cool and casual, that's Jane.

"Okay, let's discuss this like a rational adult and a half," starting friendly was the best way to proceed, I figured.

"Let's not," Jane cut me short. I raised an inquisitive eyebrow and fixed her with a blank stare.

"Oh-kaaaay," I stretched out the syllables long enough for my voice to go slightly hoarse.

"Mark'll be here by tomorrow morning. He's already got a key, he'll let himself in."

"I guess I should prepare for some light reading. Hey, why're you making you're brother do all the heavy lifting anyways? I thought you ghosts were good at all that haulage stuff."

Apparently my sparkling wit and dazzling smile weren't enough to stave off the filthy look she shot me before disappearing without so much as a puff of smoke.

I like the melodramatic ghosts better.

- - -

Dreams are strange. I, for one, don't particularly like them. I'm pretty sure the last dream I had entailed me getting eaten by some sort of pelican.

I don't know what happened last night, but I woke up at ridiculously early o'clock, blind and shivering. The room was barely cool, my sheets were warm and the Sun was already heating the air everywhere within its grasp, but I was practically frozen in the fetal position. Not cool.

I suppose my first thought shouldn't have been ungratefulness at being woken up at an insane hour to nothing but the sunshine; however, it would have been much better for everyone involved if I _had_ slept in past seven.

A frown creased my still drowsy features as I vaguely comprehended a long, drawn out series of tapping noises and hushed voices. As ridiculous as it sounds, that was all it took to get me out of bed, on my feet and casting around for either something heavy or something sharp to _whack!_ my intruder with.

That was until a key turned in the lock and I heard a tired Mark say "Thanks".

Okay. Not the zombie invasion I'd been planning for.

I opened the door hesitantly, peeking around the edge with raised eyebrows and bated breath. Just, y'know, in case.

Once again, my fear was proved needless. Mark's bags, packed with papers, folders, books and notepads full of Jane's notes were sat on the table, on both of the two chairs and Mark himself was just resting a suitcase next to the mound of bags. Despite this, I couldn't have been more nervous if I'd woken up with Ronald McDonald telling me I needed to bungee off the nearest cliff.

This is partially because I know the nearest cliff is pretty big.

I might've attempted to subtly appear in the room, if it weren't for the door making the most awful screeching squeak as it opened. The tiny 'o' shape my mouth made kinda summed up my thoughts on the matter, but for the benefit of everyone in the room who couldn't read minds, I said "Right back atcha."

Mark blinked at me at few times, apparently finding it hard to see through his jet lag.

Well, it was either that or he was a little taken back by my appearance: limp, messed-up hair, a crazed, wide-eyed expression dominating my face, wearing a white tank top and a pair of baggy shorts and holding a lamp before me like some kind of really, really odd sword.

"Rhea?"

"Uh," I put the lamp down a little sheepishly. "That's me. You rang?"

"Actually, I knocked. You didn't hear me."

"I was asleep." I said flatly.

"So?"

"Asleep. Y'know, with eyes closed, relaxed brain, REM..." my voice trailed off into nothing.

"Rhea, look..." he trailed off this time, with none of the sarcasm I'd used. "Oh, whatever. Can you take me seriously for just one minute?"

Mark sounds ridiculously similar to his sister when he's annoyed. It's somewhat amusing if they're in the same room as one another.

Anyway, the answer is a resounding _no_.

"Uh, sure. I'm good at that." I was all I said, but with great stress on the words.

He _still_ missed the irony. I rolled my eyes the obligingly walked over and sat down next to the mountain of luggage, reminding myself not to mention that Mark'd have to be hiding a few arms and Super Strength to carry all his bags.

Distracted, Mark asked "Have you seen Jane's laptop? I swear I left it-"

_Pop._

"Speak of the Devil," I grinned wickedly at the tall, blonde ghost who gave me a withering look. Apparently I haven't yet been awarded forgiveness. Oops.

"Ah, found it," the relief was evident in Mark's voice. As I looked back at him, I noticed for the first time - hey, it's not my fault, I have a short attention span. Oh, look! A shiny thing! - how similar he and Jane are in appearance. His hair was a light blonde than his sister's, cut short, perfectly straight and naturally messy. He's a freakishly tall thing, hitting at least six foot two which dwarfs his sister and near enough eclipses me.  
Their eyes are one of the few major things that differ in their appearances. While hers are a rich brown, his remain a dark, inky blue. That combined with the fact he's somethink likfe twenty-four, twenty-five is enough for most girls in the vicinity to fall to the floor in a dead faint.

Unless you count me. Which we're not.

One of the first things I'd noticed when I'd seen Mark and Jane the same room as one another was that he hardly ever looks at her. Sure, he can see her as well as I can, but from what I could gather without either of them telling me squat - there seems to be a repetitive 'keeping secrets' gene in this family - the first time Mark'd found out his elder sister had died was when she'd shown up in the middle of the night screaming that someone was after her.

I know this is the kind of thing she'd do because it's how I met her.

The ghostbuster life doesn't really seem to suit him, despite the fact he's laid back, calm and doesn't sweat the small stuff. Ghosts aren't made of small stuff, though.

In life, Jane was successful. Smart, applied herself, came out of college with pretty much her pick of the universities, came back a few years later with a couple of extra letters tacked onto the end of her name and a problem with her ego. Apart from this and a few embarrassing photos of Jane actually smiling whiel receiving certificates, I've not been able to find much on who she was before she died or what she's doing still lurking, and she really isn't the most forthcoming.

The laptop Mark was manhandling out of its bag landed a little more heavily than he intended as he went to set it down; it bounced back slightly and I cringed. Bruising the tech is not cool.

"Soooo, after you've finished trying to smash your computer to bits, what's all this about?" I asked casually. Subtle, real subtle.

With a raised eyebrow, Jane asked "All 'this'?"

I gave her a perplexed look and gestured wildly with one of my hands. "All this. Frantic research for weeks with no clue as to what exactly it's for, then first flight from London to California without so much as a weeks' notice. Then, I just _happen_ to bump into someone who is as..."

Don't you just hate not being able to find the right words?

"..._paranormally inclined _as me. Us," I corrected myself at the last second, before briefly contemplating that I'm not wading through ghostly waters alone anymore. Weird, but not particularly troubling. I'd been fine before, but company and no ghost-related secrets takes a little getting used to.

Mark and Jane exchanged glances like adults considering punishment for their kid.

"Uh, hello. Down here." I waved at the two of them from my position on the floor.

Mark sat down and sighed. "That's why we're here."

Okay, now this my life is getting interesting.

"Still not feeling enlightened, as such."

The slightly irritated look he shot me went completely unnoticed, as I was far too focused on the answers I'd only been guessing at for weeks.

I'd been looking to the wrong person for those answers, though, for it was Jane who spoke next, with arms folded and an unhappy expression that, for once, had nothing to do with me.

"I was studying medicine," she started, awkward but plowing on as usual. "in university. Instead of going straight for medical school into specialty training, I went into genetic research. It was quieter and I could work on my own," she paused.

"Long story short, after a few insistent people," she paused again, this time for emphasis, "and years of research, I came across an anomaly.

This anomaly occurs in the brain, and rather than being a cancerous tumour was something else, like an extra sensory organ. I'd never seen anything like it before, and I was beginning to feel that I'd been..."

Once again, Jane seemed lost for words.

"Punk'd?" I supplied helpfully.

"...Yes," she replied slowly. "The crackpot who was acting as my guinea pig was like you."

Uh, what?

"An irritating, fun-sized teen genius with megalomania?" I asked, felling just a little dense.

Mark had taken up position in one of the free chairs. One of his elbows was propped on the table and he was resting his chin on that hand, starign out of the window. You could tell her was listening: his eyes were perfectly still, not looking at anything - evidently he was listening raptly to his sister. I guess there's a first time for everything.

"No," There it was: the condescendingly patient tone Jane only uses when she's dealing with someone who has a smaller IQ than an earthworm.

Which isn't me.

Usually.

"The guy talked to ghosts."

I opened my mouth immediately to reply, but nothing came out, so I quickly shut it again. With a hand I brushed my mop of dark curls out of my face and sat with my knees propped up, silent.

"Speechless? Makes a change." For once, the sarcasm wasn't accompanied by a sting that was supposed to annoy me. Jane's sincerity surprised me almost as much as her revelation.

Almost.

Frowning, and still trying to bend my tiny brain around what I'd been told, I turned to the two siblings once more. "So, some idiot walked into your research lab and said 'Scan my brain, I need to find out why I'm seeing ghosts'?"

"No," she admitted. "it took me ages to get him to admit what he thought was wrong. Even then, he let me guess at what he meant first."

"So if you know the guy and he knows you know his secret then why the hell did you drag _me_ all the way out here when you could've just brought him?"

That sounded so much simpler in my head.

"Because..." she trailed off, expression troubled.

"Look, it's no use protecting my innocence. Spit it out."

"Okay then," she abandoned all attempts at subtlety and slipped back into her somewhat cruel bluntness. "He died, about a fortnight before I did."

...Oh.

No-one had ever told me how or when Jane had died, least of all herself. I'd wondered, obviously, but I knew I'd never be able to pointedly ask what had happened without having her catapult something heavy at my head. I'm all for self-sacrifice, but I'd find it pretty hard to continue assisting the undead as a ghost myself.

If the scrutinizing look she was giving me was any clue at all, Jane was closely watching and judging my reaction to this news. With my own kind fo style, I looked right back at her with one arched eyebrow and a serious expression - the latter being a first for me. Note to self: practice serious face.

The silence was growing by the second, so in an attempt to a) sort out my brain (not an easy feat, I'll have you know) and b) cut through the tension with that metaphorical knife I decided to ask questions.

Lots of questions.

"By died you mean..."

"_Died_. As in, ceased to live. Moved to another kind of existence."

"You're missing my point. If both you and he both died in a short timeframe then it's a little too-"

"-Convenient to be anything other than murder? That's what five police officers, two criminal psychologists and a private detective thought. The forensic teams found nothing."

"So how the hell did you manage to find me? I don't remember any dodgey phone calls that entailed anyone asking 'Do you see dead people?'." I whispered the latter part theatrically, to exaggerate the dramatic effect. It worked, of course, but no-one except me in that room with admit that.

"Because," The tempo of Jane's voice had increased, which let me in on the fact that she was getting increasingly touchy about this subject. I was beginning to regret asking so many questions. "just before I did die, I managed to do two things: firstly, I managed to identify a protein in the blood that is used by and unique to that extra organ, and I tracked down two people with blood samples on file who fit both the behavioural pattern for someone with your... _talents_ and tested positive for that protein."

I felt the little colour I had leak out of my face.

"That's when you found me," I conceded quietly. It was kinda unnerving to find out that someone had been able to puzzle out one of my most closely guarded secrets without even meeting me; it was scarier to find out that they had;  
Firstly, been one hundred percent right,  
Secondly actually believed the results they got and  
Thirdly, she turned out to be, of all people, Jane.

I'd always known my blood was on record; this wasn't news. My biological parents, according to the reports filed, went 'missing' soon after my, um, appearance, and so the police figured - or so I'm told - that it'd be useful for have a blood sample on record to check against if anything suspicious ever did crop up.

Jane was still staring, analysing every twitch of the mouth, every dart of the eyes. For a little while at least, I was to be her lab rat, it seemed: she'd given me that bit of radioactive cheese and was recording its effects.

Apparently she doesn't think she's got the full measure of my personality yet. It's sweet that I haven't lost the ability to surprise her.

Though it is vaguely irritating to be stared down for endless minutes by a preposterously blunt ghost, it's comforting - in strange way; if you've been stared at by a ghost you'll know this - to know why: Jane's room-mate in college was training in the field of criminal psychology. Mark let me in on this one day after he'd just had his own actions psychoanalysed and then been told he was in desperate need of anti-anxiety medication.

If you ask me, Jane may have read her roommate's textbooks once too often.

A quick glance upwards told me everything I wanted to know and a few things I didn't: firstly, Jane was please that she'd managed to surprise me and, more importantly, there was much more to this story than I'd already been told.

"That makes... sense," I concurred, because in a way it did: a chance discover or two after Jane's initial breakthrough had lead her to me and, from some kind of file or record - assuming she found something that served that kind of purpose - she could have found out pretty much anything from my eye colour to my favourite shoe shop.  
"However if I lived in England and that's where you were based," I gestured to Jane's white coat and ID badge, "then why on Earth are we having this conversation on the West Coast of the great US of A in a flashy hotel with a great view of the ocean?"

It dawned on me then that I already knew the answer to that question; the revelation made me pause.

"You said," I continued, suddenly finding it comically hard to co-ordinate my mouth and brain at the same time, "that you identified two of us."

Mark, face impassive, looked over at Jane who nodded matter-of-factly.

"Which is why you didn't want me outside right away," I mused aloud. "Just in case I got myself caught."

Jane's expressed darkened a little at my mention of yesterday's 'outing', but her features softened again, ever so slightly, when I almost - and I stress the almost - admitted I'd done wrong. Just for future reference, this will never, ever, ever happen again.

After a minute, I asked the question that had filled my mind since I'd figured out what everything meant: "Who is it?"

"I'd wager a guess that you'll find out soon enough, if you're patient," Mark supplied, before Jane answered my question directly.

"She lives up in the Hills." she explained, flicking a strand of hair out of her line of sight.

"Her name's Susannah Simon, and if she knows what's good for her, she'll brace for impact."

* * *

**AN ::** HELLO ALL YOU TEENY PEOPLE.

Hereeeeee we are again. Cookies and muffins, this time, all set out on the review table nicely.

Thank you to my loverrrly reviewers, your words make me smilee. ^^

I'm looking forward to the next chapter. Bring on Chapter Five! :D

Also, kudos to anyone who spotted the hidden House, M.D. reference.


	6. Chapter 5: Who Ya Gonna Call?

**Note:** Most ruler lines indicate a **change of POV**, e.g. from Rhea, to Suze and back again. kthxbai. ;D

* * *

**Chapter 5: Who Ya Gonna Call?**

I suppose that the news took a little while to sink in, 'cause the next day I was still thinking everything over while staring sightlessly at that which lay between me and the ocean. Once again, I'd been left to my own devices - not the wisest of moves, really, but one that gave me a chance to think without being interrupted by anyone with daft questions or vague remarks. Try as I might, I found it hard to separate everything out into easily digestible data chunks. Instead, everything seemed to hit me at once and it was impossible for me to do anything but blink and exclaim inwardly that this crap was way to much for me to handle all at once.

Sipping at a the remains of my now lukewarm coffee, I cringed at the bitter taste before setting the cup aside and leaning back casually in my chair. It was only late morning, so there was still a little fog obscuring my view of the Pacific. It'd taken me only a couple of days to adjust to the new scenery, strange weather patterns and abundance of unfamiliar accents. Obviously it's not hard to guess that was was bothering me most about this place was the discoveries I'd made in it more than anything else. The list of stuff I'd learned since I got here raced through my head once again, far too fast for me to pause and carefully consider each part of it. Shaking my head and sending myself a little dizzy, I tried to focus on the most pressing matter: this Susannah Simon.

The only things I knew about her were her name and the general area in which she lived, which certainly weren't much to go by. Judging by what Mark had said yesterday, I guess that he meant I should wait around a while before waltzing up to her front door and asking her mother whether or not her daughter has a tendency to talk to invisible people. I don't have to have done this before to know that I wouldn't get a very good reception even if this is the United States of We-Believe-What-We-See-On-TV. I don't know what the hell would bring her over here to my hotel during the middle of a school "semester", but if I hear anyone say Fate, I may just have to hit them with something heavy.

I'm not close-minded, I'm just... a little more science-orientated, that's all.

Usually, being indoors for prolonged periods doesn't particularly bother me. I'm more of an indoor person anyway - just in case you didn't notice the whole geek-chic thing I've been rocking - and so the idea of staying in the nice, peaceful interior of my hotel suite is much preferred to running outside to join the crazy Americans who, by now, are sure to be crowding the beach as the sun has just decided to emerge.

I guess that after about half a day on my own, not including sleeping hours, even I was getting lonely, despite my unsociable British heritage. It's odd, 'cause I've never found myself wanting familiar company before; even Jane's condescending tones would've been welcome at that moment. I must be ill or something.

I wasn't wanting for long, as it happens, because the inevitable happened: Jane materialised in the chair to my right and scared the bejesus out of me.

"Wouldyoustopdoingthat?" I spluttered, jolting forward in my seat and staring the ghost in the face with a somewhat deranged expression.

"No," she answered immediately, more intent upon examining each and every one of her fingernails than reading my expression. Rolling my eyes - partly because I knew she wasn't paying _any_ attention - I laid back in my chair and closed my eyes while allowing a contented, patient façade to enshroud my features.

"So," I said, breaking the silence in my ever-so-subtle way. "You never actually said - how'd you die?"

At once I knew I had, yet again, said exactly the right thing to trigger a response that almost definitely would not be positive. The whirring of both the hibernating laptop and the idling coffee maker had halted abruptly, leaving me slap bang in the middle of a tension that would've had to be cut with a chainsaw rather than a knife.

Cracking open my right eye, I saw Jane wearing a look that was so full of outright dislike that it physically hurt to observe it. I'm pretty sure she knew she was making me... nervous, for lack of a better word, because after about a minute and a half the reigning silence remained unchallenged.

I barely had time to utter my customary "oops" before Jane herself started speaking.

"Could you be _any_ more insensitive?" she asked while wearing a look of bitter curiosity.

"Yup," I told her simply, "but that'd be impolite."

"Do you actually care about what comes out of your mouth? I thought you Brits were supposed to be _renowned_ for your propriety and impeccable manners."

"Obviously you've never met a chav on a dark street corner."

"Don't you have a single molecule of respect for the dead? Or anyone else, for that matter?"

"No. Especially not when the dead are hell bent on keeping the truth from me. Yesterday was the first time you've actually informed me about the situation _ since I met you._ I can't help anyone if I don't know what I'm supposed to be doing!"

"Following instructions is what you're supposed to be doing," she replied curtly.

"I thought we'd already established that I'm no good at doing as I'm told?" I tossed back irritably.

"I thought we'd already seen the worst side of your personality. I'll add 'impatience' to the list of annoying traits, shall I?"

"It'd certainly advance your case study. Personally, I'm surprised that you haven't got me all figured out by now," I muttered.

Once again, silence fell upon us. It didn't feel quite as heavy as before, but that might've been because I cared less. The tension in the room simply didn't bother me any more.

"I don't actually remember," Jane said finally, reluctantly accepting that she wasn't going to win with me. Instead of my usual satisfaction, I felt only a vague sense of my victory and a rising feeling of bitterness which, I'm sure, any psychologist would say that I've been suppressing until now.

There's a reason I don't like shrinks.

Anyway, back to Jane. She wasn't looking at me any more and she seemed to have paused, either for effect or because she was gathering her thoughts - I mean, it's not as if she needed to pause for breath. Sadly, her silence didn't last for very long.

"It's all a little blurry," she told me in a strained voice. "I remember leaving my lab later than usual, but I don't actually recall exiting the building. When I woke up, I felt vaguely numb and was surrounded by people who I thought were acting as if I was invisible. As you can imagine, this annoying me a little."

Understatement of the century. I've accidentally forgotten to listen to Jane before and by the end of my momentary lapse in judgement, I did regret my minute of fun. Those paramedics wouldn't have known what had hit them if Jane had taken it into her head to terrorise them with her ghostly powers. Yikes.

"A minute or so later, I realise that the people around me weren't paying me the slightest bit of attention because they were too busy trying to revive a dead woman.

As I looked, I saw that my body didn't bear any obvious signs or causes of death. I didn't even have so much as a nosebleed or bruise.

After the project I'd been working on, I could pretty much guess at what had happened to me. My issue then was tracking you down - you were the closest, the person I could get to most easily. I started looking for you, eventually, and you know the story from there."

The delivery had been direct and casual, and Jane's face was a cool mask that told me absolutely nothing about her feelings on the matter.

Which sucked, because that meant I couldn't creep her out with occasional references to her obviously messed up mental status.

At that minute, I was definitely not being my normal, sensitive self. I was still fairly ticked off 'cause she'd been keeping stuff from me. I like to think I'm a generally reasonable person, but after being dragged by the scruff of my neck to the West Coast of America, I'm really not feeling quite as patient as before.

"Anything else you'd like to say while we've got the lovely little heart-to-heart thing going? I asked her in an off-hand way.

"No," she answered immediately. "You?"

"Nothing deep and meaningful-" I sighed like this was a crying shame "but I have a _very_ important question."

All Jane did was raise an eyebrow at me questioningly.

I gave her my favourite, wicked smile.

"Did you see the old guy?"

"What old guy?" Jane frowned at me, genuinely puzzled, for once.

"The old guy at the Mission. Father Dominic, I think. You must've seen him, you showed up just before I said TTFN."

"The priest?" Her frown deepened. "What about him?"

"About two minutes before I left, he became deeply..." I leaned forwards in my chair, laid my interlinked fingers on the table before me and donned an expression of exaggerated concern, "_-disturbed_ by something that seemed to be just behind me."

I dropped my act when I'd finished speaking and grinned openly at her.

"Hey, wait a minute, you're not saying-"

"It's a small world," I told her proudly, leaning back again and wriggling into a more comfortable position. "And not just small. _Tiny_."

**

* * *

**

The entire morning had been quiet. Hah, I wish.

In homeroom, Mr Walden, as per usual, pretty much left us to our own devices. I was being quizzed by the ever persistent Ceecee on what had happened with Jesse the other night, and was fending off her probing questions with non-committal noises and single syllable answers.

At lunch, I could be caught wondering when the Spanish Inquisition would end.

"Suze," she complained after a blissful two minute pause, "What's with you?"

"Um," I said. "Nothing."

"Stop lying, you know I can tell."

It still kinda amazes me how much Ceecee picks up just by watching me. She totally sussed me out within a year of knowing me.

Which reminds me: I never did actually explain the who mediator thing to her.

She's not being pushy - not about that, anyway - but eventually, I will have to explain. I've watched her and whenever she sees Jesse, it's abundantly clear that she can't understand how he's alive.

That makes two of us.

At first, I'm pretty sure she reached the conclusion that I was lying to her about the whole ghost thing. After a while she seemed to dismiss the idea, and not her curiosity has pinged back to an all-time high.

"Hey, Suze! Earth to Suze..."

Now she was waving a pale hand very close in front of my, now indignant, face in an effort to attract my attention.

"Okay, look, I have problems of a... sensitive nature."

Wide violet eyes bore holes in my face.

"Are you..."

"Am I what?" I asked, suspicious.

"Um, never mind," she responded, almost guiltily. "That's a no."

"What?" Impatience was overriding my usual instincts and I had the overwhelming urge to stamp my foot in the way that spoilt kids do in the movies.

"I won't tell you if you don't tell me."

The retort I'd had waiting on the tip of my tongue vanished and left me sitting with my mouth hanging open, kinda like a goldfish.

We stared at one another for a minute before out little war-of-words was interrupted by the quickly-stifled laughter of Adam, who had once again hung around to observe us.

Apparently having twin gazes of a confused nature directed at him was too much, 'cause his laughter reached new heights and he nearly toppled over.

"Sorry," he choked from behind a hand, "your faces... such a picture..."

The thought sent new tremors of laughter through him and he collapsed back against the wall he'd been leaning against not long before.

After rolling my eyes, I returned to my usual devil-take-the-hindmost attitude, with a small shake of my head. They did not call Adam the class clown for nothing.

By then my mind was already wandering and I found myself wondering what kind of chaos I'd find myself in later. True to Father D's request, I'd been checking out every place in Carmel that would catch the eye of someone visiting from out of town: B&Bs, hotels, you name it. To tell the truth, there aren't many places that me, Jesse, Paul and, on the odd occasion, Father Dominic himself, haven't searched. I hope that girl knows how much trouble she's caused me.

Tonight, we're supposed to be taking a wonderful - the atmosphere is sure to be so, what with both Jesse _and_ Paul in the same vehicle - journey down Seventeen Mile Drive to visit the Pebble Beach Hotel & Golf Resort, the place I met Paul, as it happens. The irony is almost too much for me.

It's one of the last places on Father D's seemingly endless list of, what he calls, "points of interest", if I recall correctly, which means that I'm either very close to being free or out search will have to be widened to anywhere tourists happen to lurk. I'm hoping for the former.

Paul, however, seems to be enjoying our little ghost hunt. I'm not entirely sure what it is about this 'mission' that's made him quite so content with the search we're conducting - it's likely something to do with being able to infuriate Jesse simply by being in close proximity. Evidently charity cases, as he assures me often, are more my thing.

It's irritating having to put up with someone who always thinks they're right, especially when they are right a lot of the time. It's a shame I was born to resolve things with my fists rather than my mouth.

* * *

"Ah," Cee breathed as we made our way out of the French classroom, "free at last! Whatcha say, Suze, wanna come down to the Clutch with us?"

Adam and a couple of others peered at me over Ceecee's shoulder expectantly and I had to hold back a laugh.

"I'd love to, but I can't," I told her. "Jesse's waiting for me..." I felt a blush creep into my cheeks and simultaneously felt my annoyance rise. I called 'See you later' over my shoulder to a chorus of "Oooo-oooh"s from the rest of the group.

Pale eyebrows raised, Ceecee just stared at me for a minute before blinding me with the bright flash of her braces as she smiled.

"Oh, that's just fine, Suze," she said in a cheerfully suggestive tone that set the people around her laughing - all except Adam, who scowled.

Chuckling to herself, Ceecee waved goodbye to me and called 'see ya' over her shoulder as she watched me cross the school to the Mission's entrance, where it opened out onto the school parking lot.

"Simon!" a familiar voice drawled. "Not trying to ditch me, are you?"

Turning, I faced the owner of the voice looking, at best, bored, and at worst, pissed off. I wasn't sure which at that moment.

"No," I said aloud, "just hoping to avoid being stuck in a moving vehicle with you."

"Aw, Suze, I'm hurt. What've I done to earn your disapproval?"

"Would you like me to make a list?" I found myself asking, tartly.

He laid a hand over his heart and threw a wounded look in my direction.

"You kill me, Suze. Didn't I tell you I was behaving myself?"

"I didn't believe you - and I still don't, as a matter of fact."

"Hey, that's not fair. I haven't made any attempts to off your boyfriend recently, have I?"

He laughed at my expression. "Relax, Suze, I've barely seen Jesse around lately."

"Yeah, well, brace yourself." I muttered under my breath.

At that moment, Jesse pulled into the Mission's parking lot in the midnight blue car that Father Dominic has 'set him up with' just after he'd passed his driving test.

The mere sight of him was enough to make me smile, I guess, because Paul rolled his eyes and hissed something that definitely sounded like 'get a room'.

Smiling sweetly, I moved off towards Jesse leaving Paul to reluctantly trudge forwards somewhere behind me.

Jesse climbed out of the driver's seat with surprising ease, closed the door with a _click_ and ran a hand through his hair absently. When he realised I was approaching, he looked up and smiled in a wau that made me both shiver and flush at the same time. Way to act like a little schoolgirl, I mused.

As usual, he bent down to kiss my forehead and murmured 'Hello, _querida_," in his gently accented English.

"Hi," was all I said, as I found that my breath had caught in my throat which made it pretty difficult to talk.

"How was your day?" he asked me with a barely perceptible glance over my shoulder at the teen tennis champ waiting with raised eyebrow and bored expression.

"The usual, nothing scarier than the social hierarchy of an American high school."

Which, if you think about it, is pretty damn scary. I wasn't about to dampen the mood and tell Jesse that, though.

"And how's _he_ been?" Now he was staring directly at Paul with what could be considering a calculating gaze.

Finding myself a little stuck for words, I simply shrugged and said, "He's being himself, minus a bit of psychopath. I guess we can't ask for much more than that."

Something I said must've struck him as humorous, 'cause he cracked a smile and lead me around the other side of the car so he could open the door for me. I slid into my seat while raising my eyebrows at him, a small reminder that his manners are, in fact, two centuries old and counting. He took no notice, of course, but it's the thought that counts.

A few yards away, Paul Slater was observing our interaction with more than a little amusement. I guess I'd been a little presumptuous when I figured we'd all be playing nice and getting along while ghost hunting; apparently, the supernatural isn't enough for my boyfriend and his arch-nemesis to co-operate for a couple of hours.

Jeez, guys are such _children._

Seventeen Mile Drive looked the same as it had the last time I'd been down this way. Same nightmarish hairpin turns, same countless rows of mansions for the rich and the antisocial, and, most noticeably, some of the most breathtaking views of the North Pacific.

I don't know how many times I've caught a glimpse of the sea and held mu breath, but I've lived here just over a year and it _still _ surprises me.

Anyway, back to the mission at hand.

The Pebble Beach Hotel & Golf Resort can be summed up in two words that are true for anyone whose surname is not Slater: extortionate luxury. I swear, the people in there live like royalty - and the people who work there don't get paid too miserably, either. I should know.

As we pulled onto the front of the Resort, I had a hideous flashback full of navy swimsuits and pleated shorts. Shuddering, I exited the car, barely noticing Jesse as he came around to stand beside me and wait for the shiny BMW that was sure to pull up somewhere close by.

When the Ghostbusters were all present and correct, we headed inside, me taking the uncomfortable lead with Jesse barely a step behind me and Mr I-Just-Jumped-Off-The-On-site-Tennis-Courts casually strolling in about ten minutes or so behind us.

Before I had a chance to wonder where to start looking for our mystery girl, Jesse walked up to the main desk in a leisurely manner and quickly caught the attention of the twenty-something-year-old woman ho suddenly seemed _much_ more engaged in her work.

"Excuse me, do you have a reservation under the name of Vetris?"

"Um, sorry?" the woman blinked, then blushed an interesting shade of scarlet.

"A reservation," Jesse repeated with a measured patience, and with none of the tell-tale signs of annoyance that I would've displayed openly. "Do you have one under the name of Vetris?"

"Oh!" After hitting a few buttons on the computer keyboard that was obscured by the desk itself, the woman shook her head apologetically and turned back to Jesse. "I'm afraid not, sir. Are you looking for someone?"

"Ah... Thank you, but we'll be quite fine. We're waiting waiting for a friend; we're simply unsure of the name she made her reservation under. Good day."

As he turned to leave, he gave the woman a fleeting smile, which caused her pallor to change to an even deeper shade of crimson. I, on the other hand, was still staring at Jesse in surprise when he arrived beside me and took my hand.

"I guess that we'll just have to hope Slater can recognise her by sight..." - he didn't sound particularly pleased with that idea, if I'm honest - "or just hope that the ghost herself appears."

"I don't particularly like either of those. Responsibility? Don't you know me at all?" Paul grinned at Jesse as he came to stand next to us. Unnerved, I spun around and glared at him until he raised his hands in a gesture of compliance and defeat, wearing a smile that said he would definitely not be apologising for making me jump - not any time soon, anyway.

"So," I started, half hoping that at least one of us would come up with an ingenious idea that would leave us free for the rest of the night, "anyone got any bright ideas as to where we're supposed to start the manhunt?"

**

* * *

**

"I'm not doing anything. Honestly."

"From you, Rhea, that's about as good as a promise from a con man."

"Wow, thanks. I've never been compared to the scourge of this great country before."

"Trust _you_ to take it as a compliment..."

"Trust _you_ to disbelieve everything I say just because I took a day out when Mummy said I had to stay home. I'm sat down _relaxing_, Mark, like you should be. It's California, for God's sake."

"We have stuff to do, Rhea, and you know it," he told me irritably, doing a _jolly _good impression of his sister.

"Not yet. Not me, anyway. Seriously, how much trouble can I cause while stuck up here?"

"Plenty, I'm sure. _Goodbye_, Rhea."

_Click._

Ha! Me, trouble? The guy's gotta be kidding me.

Funnily enough, though, just as I was having the conversation, the elevator I'd been waiting for arrived. Despite what I'd told Mark, there was no was I was staying looked in my room - not any more. I had absolutely no intention of leaving the Resort's grounds, but all the same, I'm pretty sure the guy's gonna be pissed when he finds out I lied to him. Again.

Up until now, I'd not met anyone in the corridors that took me from the suite I shared with Mark and Jane - I'd just like to add here that, surprising as it may seem, ghosts take up an awful lot of space - which I counted as a good thing, for two reasons: firstly, I wasn't feeling too social, as evident by the conversation I've just had; secondly, the bluetooth headset I'f been wearing made me look as if I were talking to myself - either that, or I was heading off to work in a 'drive-thru'.

As I clicked the button for the ground floor, I slipped the headset off and pocketed it, vaguely wondering is I could slip back upstairs and into the quiet without anyone noticing I'd disappeared. Probably not, but I was sure to make a point of remaining optimistic - for now, anyway.

Boredom was my primary reason for leaving the familiarity of my rooms. Even _I_ was getting fed up with the same four wall. I don't know what exactly I thought I was expecting downstairs, but I figures that even if nothing exciting was happening, I could always create a little drama. After all, there's nothing funnier than watching strangers simultaneously trying to keep their composure and bitch slap their opposition. In England, there was always the ongoing War of the Stereotypes, the most notable being Chavs vs Emos; here in America, however, I wasn't entirely sure what I was going to find, but I was certain it's be amusing - at least for the part of the audience that included me.

The elevator door opened and I flashed a dazzling smile at those who entered the lift as I exited it. The lobby of the Resort wasn't as crowded as I would've imagined, but then again it wasn't that late; people were dotted around, sorting luggage, talking to the oddly-dressed staff members. The last time I'd passed through this place, I hadn't been paying too much attention to my surroundings, I found, for there was an awful lot that I'd missed when I'd been coming and going before.

There was no doubt about it, the Pebble Beach Hotel was certainly the poshest and most expensive place _I've_ ever stayed in. The fact that I have little to no understanding of the ratio of dollars to pounds, the bill for this place makes me shiver just to think of it.

As the reception came into view, I noticed things around the place that I'd not seen before: chairs placed conveniently for visitors, the spotlights on the ceiling and even the solemn pictures on the walls that made the whole place feel a little bit grander. The people lurking in corners all seemed to be conducting some kind of business or other; most were in sizeable groups, family units - all except what looked like three teens who seemed to be waiting for something - or, more likely, someone, I reminded myself. This didn't unnerve me until I saw the back of a curly head that made be frown in concentration until I realise where I'd seen the guy before.

The Mission. It was the kid who looked like he'd just ambled out of a Wimbledon game.

Doubling back quickly, I pretended to be interested in the extensive rack of leaflets and pamphlets I'd just passed without so much as a glance. Using this as a pretence to I could try and formulate a plan, I picked up the brochure for the Resort itself and turned again, the way I'd been heading before I doubled back, and made a beeline for a free seat not too far away. Sitting down gently, making sure that there was a chair between me and the forty-year-old man to my left (for the record, I chose him because he was the only person over the age of thirty who a) was on his own and b) didn't look senile). Casually, I leaned over the empty chair that separated us and, with a hand grasping the abandoned newspaper that rested there, softly spoke to him.

"Excuse me," I began in my most formal, educated, I'm-A-Really-Big-Girl voice. "You don't happen to have a pen, do you?" I smiled gently and waited for him to assess me and react with surprise.

After a moment he blinked, then attempted to answer me through a thin vein of confusion. I'll bet it was my accent. Throws them _every time._

"I think so," he replied, his voice heavily accented. "Gimme a minute."

From one of numerous pockets he produced a biro, which he handed to me. I thanked him with a smile and folded the leaflet I'd collected in half so that the only bit exposed was plain white. On this, I wrote a single word and a combination on numbers before setting it aside and opening up the newspaper.

Okay, so it was a really, really bad disguise that's been done to death in the film industry.

It worked, though.

When I lowered the paper just enough to allow me to see over it, I couldn't see a single person watching me - let alone eyeing me with suspicion. A shame, 'cause if they _had_ noticed me, it would've saved me having to draw attention to myself.

Coughing loudly enough to disturb the fairly quiet room, I dropped the paper onto my lap as I covered my mouth with a hand. Grasping it again, I folded it, then stood and walked back towards the elevators that were tucked in an alcove not fifty yards away.

As I walked away - quickly enough to warrant being followed rather than called after, but slowly enough to still be recognisable - I listened, carefully. At first, I heard nothing but the sounds that had existed in the room before; I was rewarded for my patience, however, when I was greeted with quick, shuffling footsteps that were quickly stopped, rustling of garments and the unmistakable sound of hushed voices. I continued, completely at ease, making sure I neglected to look back.

Sure, if it was me that these guys were looking for - and I had to assume it was - I needed to know, maybe I even needed to meet them.

But come _on_, how was I supposed to resist screwing with them?

**

* * *

**

The inactivity was annoying me greatly. If there's one thing I'm no good at, it's sitting and waiting. I am, however, very good at resolving situations with violence. Sadly, then, I found myself in a predicament were my particular skills were of absolutely no use whatsoever.

"So," I muttered loud enough that only Jesse and Paul could hear me, "someone remind me: why're we just standing around and doing nothing?"

" 'Cause there's nothing for us to do yet. Would you prefer to go door knocking for a couple of hours, Suze?" Paul asked lazily.

Looking sulky, I switched my attention from person to person in the room around us. No-one seemed particularly out of the ordinary or conspicuous, and no-one seemed to be surrounded by the melancholy that envelopes those the dead follow - hell, I didn't even see anyone _resembling_ a ghost around the place. Unlike many of the places I've visited in my lifetime, it was perfectly ordinary, if a little extravagant.

Paul turned his head slightly as someone behind him coughed. As he shifted his weight, something seemed to catch his eye. I found myself watching him with a small frown as a smile curled the corners of his mouth and he uttered a single word.

"Bingo," he murmured to me and Jesse.

"What?" I questioned quickly, abruptly realising that he must've seen her - or at least something significant. "Where?"

"She's leaving," Jesse answered, following the figure carefully with his liquid eyes. It sounds stupid, but for the tiniest part of a second I felt jealous that I wasn't the focus of that gaze, While attempted to push this somewhat disturbing feeling aside, I sought for the figure both Paul and Jesse had found before me.

Note: I am _not_ a sore loser.

The back of her dark, curly head was facing us as she moved away at a steady pace; a minute or so more and she'd disappear too and we'd likely find ourselves unable to find the path she'd taken back to her room.

Hastily, I started forward. Before I'd gone three steps, I felt Jesse's warm hand on my arm, holding me back.

"Hey, wait, she's disappearing-"

"You might not want to approach her directly just yet. The news we bring will likely startle her."

I hadn't thought of that. Pausing, I nodded once to Jesse, still wishing that I could do something other than lurking around the lobby uselessly.

A laugh close by made me jump. For the second time today Paul had crept up behind me while I was otherwise occupied. This is more than enough reason for me to maintain my dislike for him today, I felt.

"In the contrary, I'm pretty sure it's us that are supposed to be exhibiting surprise about now," he chuckled.

"What're you on?" I asked bluntly.

"Whatever it is, it's better than whatever you're on." he looked at me with just a _hint_ of satisfaction. IN his hand he held a folded piece of paper with a room number written on it in small, neat handwriting.

I took it, turned it over in my hands, looking for something I couldn't quite put my finger on. Jesse looked how I felt: completely mystified at the turn of events.

"Where'd you get this?" I asked, bewildered.

"She left it behind on the chair she'd been in before. Guess she knew we were coming - either that or she knew who we are."

"You sound _amused_," I accused.

"So sue me," he whispered as he brushed past, heading off in the direction of, if my memory serves me correctly, the elevator shafts. Still no sign of the girl we were supposed to be locating. Nice of her to leave a postcard, though.

_Why_ did I volunteer for this?

It took us a while to find the door to her suite. She could've been a _little_ more precise, given us a floor number to go with her room. Seriously, we wasted almost half an hour simply looking for a floor that had a number close to hers.

When we did eventually find the right floor, the right door, Jesse knocked a few times, then stepped back to a polite distance. He'd murmured to me a short while before that he thought it'd be wise if she saw someone she recognised - and Paul was the only one of us that she'd seen outside of the Hotel. Neither of us were particularly comfortable with this resolution, but we didn't have a better plan, so we went along with it.

The door didn't open. There wasn't even a sound from behind it: no movement, no music, no voices, nothing. We waited, completely still, in the tense silence for any kind of sound that would betray the presence of a person. _Still_ nothing.

I tossed my head, irritated, in such a way that reminded me of Kelly Prescott at her most haughty. I caught sight of something - someone, I amended - back down by the elevators. She was smiling slyly and leaning again the wall next to a decorative alcove, newspaper in hand - apparently, she'd been watching us ever since we'd arrived. All of a sudden, I wasn't feeling quite so sure of myself. Sure, she was small, but she'd just successfully outsmarted _three _of us.

"To be honest," she said, inspecting her fingernails casually, "I thought I'd already met the most unobservant people the world had yet to offer. You three just broke the record for being clueless."

As she made eye contact again, her smile widened and she seemed torn between an intelligent, calculating curiosity and a deep amusement.

"I'm glad at least _one_ of us is having fun," I remarked dryly.

Arms folded, Paul had stepped back when I'd started speaking, seemingly favouring the role of silent spectator instead of active participant. Jesse had raised both of his black eyebrows at the newcomer but had made no attempt to speak to her or intervene in the conversation I was holding with her.

Okay, I thought. I guess I'm on my own.

"Oh, relax, I'm just screwing with you." The girl was so close to laughter I could practically hear it already.

"_Relax_? We've practically been turning Carmel upside down looking for you!"

"And, believe it or not, I'm pretty sure I just flew halfway around the world to find you."

Stunned, I couldn't even summon the words to ask why the hell she was looking for me and how she knew who I was. I certainly hadn't bothered introducing myself.

"Alright," she started walking slowly towards us and I took an instinctive step back to give her room as she reached out to unlock the door.

"You might wanna sit down for this, it's one helluva long story."

**

* * *

**

**AN:** Hallo!

Yes, I know, it's been an _insanely_ long time since I updated. Life got busy, okay? =P

Anyway, Suze & Rhea are back now, so you can enjoy that. If you managed to keep up with the switching and changing of the POVs, I salute you. I couldn't. My brain really is too small for that.

Thank you to all my reviewers, new and recurring, especially I want to be Jesse's girl: your review actually blew my head off. That's why I took so long writing this - I had to go searching for my head.

(That's my story and I'm sticking to it.)

Goodbye and goodnight folks, I'll see you in the afterlife.

Or the next chapter. Whichever comes first. ;)


	7. INTERMISSION

**Intermission**

Okay so, first off, forgive me for this not actually being a proper chapter.

Secondly, after a ridiculous amount of time, I'll be updating this soon. New chapter has been written and is in the proof-reading stage. bear with me, lovely people, bear with me.

Arrivederci!


	8. 6: When I Get Home, You're So Dead

**- - -  
Chapter 6: When I Get Home, You're So Dead **

I'm still not entirely sure what exactly it was that riled our guests so much. It may have just been Jane. Not dissimilarly from someone else she likes to mention often, _ahem_, she seems to have a penchant for rubbing people up the wrong way which, sadly, is not as dirty as it sounds.

These guys, observant or not, had not a clue as to what they were getting themselves into. If I'd been in any kind of charitable mood I might have let them know that they ought to duck and cover, sharpish, should I use the phrase 'She's gonna blow!'.

As it was, I didn't.

At first all Jane did was repeatedly traverse a metaphorical path with her eyes from my face to the collection of faces of the newcomers and back again - silently, thank God. Her eyes darted forwards and backwards before settling on me again, though she seemed to have some difficulty in dragging her gaze away from the slightly shell-shocked trio that occupied the sofa opposite me. Judging by the expressions on her face, I'd say that she moved through several different states of mind, all in relatively quick succession: surprise, a flash of curiosity, a second's contemplation, irritation and then, finally, resignation.

"You're a hopeless case," were her first, unceremonious, words; directed at me, of course. The voice she used was low and level and chaperoned by a prolonged sigh.

"I'd really rather we thought of this as... spontaneous opportunism." I answered, my tone bright and cheerful despite my own misgivings.

"When I give an instruction it's for a reason. You should stop ignoring me. I'm not purposefully trying to inconvenience you," she hissed as I took a couple of steps towards her, quietly enough that I'd be the only one to hear her clearly.

"_I _didn't," I told her, laying much emphasis upon the pronoun, "and that's not necessary. You're a natural. Anyhow, before you get all carried with me, you probably ought to introduce yourself or risk being thought rude."

Not the least bit shame-faced, Jane favoured me with an ironic expression implying that implied unsavoury things about my own manners as she stepped past to present herself to our guests. I shrugged genially, wearing nonchalance and casually inspecting the cleanliness of my fingernails so as not to get caught up in Jane's potent gaze. She's an expert at inspiring the kind of feeling a small rodent might experience before it is caught and eaten by some manner of alarming bird.

"Hello," she offered formally, after a pause, her voice cool and smooth and without any of the subtly intoned annoyance she'd been using only the moment before. "I'm Jane, as you've not doubt gathered. "Assuming that Rhea's introduced herself -"

"No, actually," Susannah cut in abruptly, surprising everyone, herself included. The tall, dark and silent guy nudged her ever so slightly; she appeared to feel it but it did nothing more than to change her facial expression from one of frustration to another, albeit similar, one of mild indignation.

Not for the first time that day, Jane muttered something inaudible and swiveled her head to pin me with those eyes. I was already very conscious that by butting heads we were in fact going backwards and not making progress, so I decided to do what I do best: break the ice - with a metaphorical sledgehammer.

"Howdy, my name's Rhea and I'll be your guide for this evening. Are we gonna get down to business or would you like the grand tour first?"

Jane ignored me - perhaps not without reason - and instead sat down on the on the sofa I'd commandeered earlier. She leaned forwards as if she was nervous; her elbows were propped up on her knees, in what I highly doubted was a comfortable position, and her fingertips touched together lightly at the ends. Her face was unreadable but she gave off an aura of intensity, as if she was deliberating hard about something - what, I couldn't say.

For a change, I returned to my seat and sat quietly, leaving the reigning silence very much unbroken. I had the distinct, nagging feeling that when Jane eventually found her voice again I might be a step or two closer to finding out why I was half the world away from home looking for an obstinate teen that routinely speaks to the dead. I didn't for a second expect that I was anywhere close to being let in on every secret that Jane kept: aside from keeping me on a need-to-know basis, those people in there with us were strangers. Neither of us had any idea if we could trust them yet.

Increasingly impatient, I drummed my fingers against the soft, dark leather of the sofa in a simple, repetitive four-beat pattern, just for something to do. _Tap-tap-tap-tap._

"Okay, so, how about we start at the beginning?" I sat forward, unconsciously mimicking Jane's tense posture. "Jane was a doctor, just in case you didn't notice the lab coat. Before she met me she was working research and development in some fancy-shmancy lab somewhere doing brain science. You know, neurology, that kind of thing. Once she met a guy who claimed to have a strange... ability.

"He said he could talk to ghosts. For one reason or another she decided he _wasn't _completely nuts and started looking into it from a scientific standpoint. Apparently there's something in our blood that distinguishes us from the rest of the universe because after a couple of years, she found me,"

_For better or worse_, I added in my head.

"I wasn't the only one, either, there was another name. I'll give you three guesses - you'll only need one."

Comprehension dawned on three faces. Susannah stared blankly at me, then almost beseechingly at Jane, as if the latter were going to magnanimously contradict everything I'd said. I guess I could understand her difficulty, if only in a small way. I hadn't found it particularly easy to deal with the arrival of an overbearing, paranoid ghost - especially because when Jane found me, she still hadn't got the hang of being dead. I'm sure that finding a foreigner and a ghost on your doorstep looking for you is perplexing - but really, the girl deals with _ghosts. _You'd think this would almost be normal.

"It's a little more complex than that," Jane supplied, her sideways glance at me filled with puzzlement that tells me she hasn't a clue what goes on in my head. Had we been alone, I'd have told her that for the most part, I'm in the same boat.

"So you fly over to the West Coast to find me... now what?"

As professional as I was trying to be - and professionalism is _not _my forte - I couldn't help smiling in amusement at the half-buried suspicion in her tone.

"I think that's one's best answered by the expert. I'll get the coffee." I had the impression that this conversation would be lengthy and that caffeine would be both welcome and helpful.

"What, no tea?" Wimbledon over in the corner broke his silence languidly; sarcasm radiated through his words. I was already on my feet, having walked halfway to the kitchen before he'd spoken. When he did I turned to face him, calm, matching his smart tone exactly.

"I'm blending with the locals. I was told that they scare easy." I shrugged and walked into the kitchen, slowly enough that I just caught his next line.

"Hm. Good thing I'm not a local, I might've been offended."

Hidden from view I rolled my eyes. Wouldn't _that _have been a shame.

The small kitchen felt open and airy and was lacking in most departments - entirely forgivable considering the food outlets on the premises - but I was completely out of view, and, needless to say, the latter concerned me far more than the former. I clicked on the machine and leaned against the counter, staring out of the window absently with my back to the wall between me and everyone else.

"So," Susannah started, seemingly with great difficulty, "why not just pick up the phone?"

Jane's reply came in the softest tones I've ever heard her use; she was treating Susannah as if she were young and delicate and the situation needed to be explained carefully so as not to alarm her. Had she been talking to me, I scoffed inwardly, she would've skipped the rigmarole and jumped straight to business.

"Would you have believed us - or even spoken to us? Besides, Rhea would have had to call in my stead..." There she trailed off meaningfully. I took that to mean _Rhea is tactless and would have had you running for the hills._ I didn't find that insinuation particularly troubling - I mean, for one, she's right. Not that I'd actually tell her that.

"What was the point in finding me in the first place, though?"

"We - I - need your help." Jane told her in a low voice that sounded as if she was selecting each word very carefully.

"I'm not sure what you've heard, doc, but Suze has mostly given up on charity cases," a careless drawl informed Jane with more than a little satisfaction. I could easily imagine Jane's face: motionless except for the almost imperceptibly narrowed eyes, her only outwards display of her annoyance. Oh how I love that expression.

All remained quiet for a moment - except the coffee machine, obviously, which had no sense at all of social etiquette - until there was a dull thud and an irritated grunt that suggested 'Suze' had just taken it into her head to give the guy a good whack. Profoundly glad that I was out of everyone's view, I covered my mouth to hide my smile and muffle my quiet laughter then thanked whichever gods were listening for my being fortuitous enough to have been thrust into a situation with someone so like-minded.

"Be specific," Susannah said aloud, quiet enough that I had to strain to hear her over the mounting noise in the kitchen. Her desire for information was accompanied by a distinct reluctance to commit herself to anything before she was fully informed. I frowned, musing that this looking-before-leaping malarkey was likely something we'd disagree on should it turn out to be a habit of hers.

At that point, I was kinda hoping that Jane felt the same way as I did about Silent, Suspicious and Sardonic - unnerved, untrusting and a little creeped out - or at least shared my feelings enough to hold back. I wouldn't be able to keep a lid on my bitterness should she decide to openly trust them when she'd never, to my knowledge, shown me that courtesy.

"First things first," Jane began, her reassuring tones sounding well-practiced enough that I began to expect she'd taken a psych rotation in med school.

"Coffee," I supplied readily, sidling back into their midst with a tray full of the pot of coffee, steaming merrily, a precarious stack of cups higher than I was allowing myself to contemplate and ample supplies of milk and sugar. "grab it while it's hot."

I threw something of an apologetic look at Jane. Nothing too convincing, she might get suspicious, but enough to let her know that I was trying for courtesy over sly insults. She didn't seem to take too much notice.

"I should think we need a few more introductions, too." I continued, seeing as no-one else was speaking.

"You already know a hell of a lot," Susannah countered. "You mean to tell me that you didn't research my known associates too? Your stalking skills leave some to be desired." The tone she used was clear-cut and she didn't at all mince words. I smiled faintly; I was starting to believe that maybe we'd get along after all.

"Your stealth skills need some work too," I tossed back, "You weren't exactly covert downstairs. Besides - quite aside from ambushing me outside the door - how exactly did you plan on telling me that you thought I was the target of a possibly homicidal ghost?"

Susannah held my gaze for a remarkably long time. _Touch__é_, her face said. I smiled in acknowledgement that we were equally matched; I might've seen something of that reflected in her eyes, some glimmer of recognition, but it also might just have been the way that sunlight fell.

"I guess neither of us are that good at people," I said, sliding backwards on the sofa and further into the cushions, thoughtful.

It took me more than a minute to realise that the dark one on Susannah's other side was watching me with great concentration: there was the sense that he cared deeply that I was toying with her, even if she was responding in kind. Dark eyes followed me with something like incomprehension, brow furrowed ever so slightly, his thoughts and feelings carefully hidden someplace else. Try as I might to ignore him, his gaze felt oddly heavy so even when I looked away I was dragged backwards.

It was a whole new kind of strange for me. Very few people manage to creep under my skin. Something in the way he watched me, as if he were trying to look _though _me to see something beyond, something barely tangible, was deeply unsettling. I glanced at Jane and then away again, searching for the best way to drag my attention back to the matters at hand.

Susannah leaned backwards a little so that her companions could take centre stage for their introductions. Paul, future tennis star, and Jesse, still somewhat elusive, gave their names matter-of-factly, with little or no embellishment, which I thought frightfully boring of them. Neither had trouble making eye contact with Jane, so I figured it was safe to assume that neither was particularly new to the idea of ghosts. On the other hand, Jesse's eyes lingered on Jane's less-than-corporeal form long enough for it to piqué my interest. If I didn't know better I would have said there was something like melancholy in the way he assessed her, which struck me as especially strange because there was not a thing about Jane that suggested she felt the least bit wistful.

There was only a short stretch of quiet until loud shuffling noises emanating from the hallway distracted everyone from their earlier trail of thought. I exchanged a look with Jane that was indicative, I hope, of my own surprise. I saw my own feelings reflected back at me, so I guessed that it wasn't Mark - who would have told at least one of us that he planned to be back early. Housekeeping purposefully arranged visit times when we were out; we made sure we'd never be discovered 'talking to ourselves'.

Jane crossed the room in a few brisk steps and disappeared through the wall with no apparent effort. I set my coffee cup down, empty, and folded my arms across my chest, running through a few possible suspects for visitors before running dry. I didn't take any notice of my guests' faces but if I had, I would have seen only surprise and mild disinterest.

_Whatever happens, it wasn't me_, I told myself before I decided to stand and follow the general direction in which Jane had disappeared - avoiding the wall, of course. I rounded the corner that had previously blocked my view of the door and nearly walked right into Jane, who I needn't have followed because she was heading back in my direction anyway.

"Steady on," I said before I mastered my vague alarm and took in her expression, which was a strange blend of concern and aggravation. "I'm assuming it wasn't your brother at the door? That's a shame. Mark's my favourite living member of your family."

"He's the only one you've met," she pointed out as if I didn't know.

"Details," I waved a hand, demonstrating my flippancy, "Who was is?"

"A particularly disruptive neighbour," Jane said with a steely undertone that I don't think was due to my being purposefully antagonistic. Regardless, I dropped the matter, figuring that if it was really that important there was always later when we didn't have the three musketeers sat in the lounge.

"We should probably get back to our guests, then, before they decide to flee via the balcony."

"Somehow I doubt it," Jane replied dryly.

"I wouldn't bet on it," I told her, walking backwards without any particular thought as to where I was going, "kids could be up to anything."

"You realise that if that classification is taken to be correct that you'd also fit in the category of 'kids', right?"

I stared at her, doing my best to look horrified. "Mercy!" I cried. "Say not such terrible things!"

With only the slightly quirk of an eyebrow Jane followed me back to the main room, taking much more care in where she placed her feet than I did - even though for her it wasn't strictly necessary.

We weren't greeted by three curious or suspicious faces when we arrived back in the other room. No, when we came back to resume our somewhat fractured conversation with our guests, we found Paul lounging as if he owned the place, eyes closed, soaking if the sun than slanted through the unobstructed windows and Jesse stood behind the opposing end of the sofa, maintaining as great a physical distance between himself and Paul as he could without being construed as impolite. 'Suze' had mysteriously vanished - although if the way that Jesse kept glancing at the door to kitchen was any indication, she hadn't gone far.

I headed off, slowly, towards the kitchen to see what on earth she thought she was doing.

Halfway between pained and annoyed, with a look of utmost concentration on her face, Susannah stood with her back to half of the kitchen while she stared at the kitchen's panoramic view of the ocean. One hand held an ancient handset to her right ear, the other was covering the other ear to block out extraneous noise - of which there was none. She was leaning, uncomfortably, I guessed, on the counter across from the door and, fortunately, taking absolutely no notice of me.

"Busted," I whispered conspiratorially.

"No... no! Seriously, it's all under control. Relax."

The words she hissed were coloured by impatience but they were in earnest. She tapped the phone absently with a finger, unconsciously venting her frustration in the only way available to her: she seemed reluctant to yell at whoever was bugging her.

"No. It's _fine_, I swear. I'll get Jesse and _he'll _tell you -"

When she turned around to do just that, she looked me dead in the eye and I smiled benignly, taking advantage of her surprise. "You mind if I cut in?"

Her hand, the one holding the phone, had slipped so it was about on level with her shoulder. I reached out and took it; a second later she realised that she probably ought to react and so snatched at the handset. I jumped backwards, light on my feet, holding out my left hand to keep her far enough away while I lifted the receiver to my ear and turned away so she couldn't get at it, all the time wearing my favourite light smile. After a few seconds of waiting, there was a sigh on the other end of the line and a voice spoke, attempting a soothing, placating tone but wandering too close to patronizing for my tastes.

"Susannah, just listen to me. I think it might be better if I -"

"Sorry, dude, Susannah's not here at the minute. Please leave a message and she'll get back to you."

"Excuse me?" The voice answered, bewildered. "Susannah?"

"Simon says see you later," I told him, my tone as light as my smile. I got the feeling that the guy on the other end was a little slow on the uptake. At her name, Susannah launched a new attack - I ducked under her flailing arms and circled back into the kitchen, quite stupidly cornering myself.

"I'm hanging up now. Adieu!" I called, feeling a smallest bit sympathetic and at least partially responsible for his state of utter confusion.

"Wait!" The urgency raised the pitch of his voice. My finger was hovering over the end call button but I wasn't quite feeling so heartless as to actually hang up on the guy. I mean, he wasn't the one that followed me home.

"I'm sorry," he said, sounding truly abashed, "Is that Rhea?"

Susannah stopped advancing on me when my smile faded to a frown. The voice sounded familiar, now that I thought about it, but I wasn't having any luck at all in placing it.

My hand fell slowly from my ear and came to rest slowly by my side, phone and all. Instead of disconnecting I tossed it up in the air with a quick 'think fast' so Susannah reached for it as I slid past her. I didn't feel quite right any more; whether she had good intentions or not there was another person, another variable in the equation that I couldn't account for, and that was enough to make me extremely uncomfortable.

I barely heard Susannah say goodbye but I heard the quiet _beep _that said the call had disconnected.

"What do you think you're doing?" Susannah demanded immediately afterwards.

"Your partner in crime gave the game away. Next time, pick a better spot," I answered. "And tell him to work on subtlety."

I walked back into the other room without looking back at her but I caught a few muttered words that sounded like _you can talk_. I ignored it.

Instead of taking my original seat I hovered by the glass table in front of the french doors, distancing myself from everyone else so that I had a bit of space in which to think. Jane seemed to pick up on my change in mood but she didn't pass comment, for which I was thankful - in a round-about fashion anyway, notwithstanding the fact that I was more concerned with thinking of a way I could escape.

"Where were we before we were so rudely interrupted?" came the voice of Paul who was still sprawled out on the sofa, not a care in the world.

"Question time," Jane answered, her eyes on me, questioningly, her voice sharp. I found myself envying her ability to Disapparate at a moment's notice.

"You'll have to excuse me, I should really take my leave..." I was backing away towards the front door when Jane's brow furrowed and she followed me. I had already turned the key when she spread her hands, palms up, and asked me what the hell was going on.

"I need a minute. You'll be just fine without me," I reassured her, pulling on the door in what I hoped was a pointed fashion. Jane noticed but didn't as such respond the way I'd planned: she put a hand on the door and pushed backwards to it clicked back into place again. Fed up, I folded my arms and stood, resolute.

"You can't just walk out."

"Watch me. Don't worry, I'll behave, I promise. You won't miss me."

She scrutinized me for a few seconds more before something miraculous happened: she nodded and backed up a few paces.

"You had better." She warned me.

I laughed. "I couldn't possibly cause any more trouble than I have already."

"Amen to that," she muttered as she turned away and left me there, surprised despite myself.

I slipped through the door quickly but didn't lock it behind me. When it clicked shut I closed my eyes and breathed deeply, exulting in the quiet, heavenly emptiness of the hallway. As usual when in my own company, I felt much more at ease, especially as I started walking away.

"Going down," I told the empty air as the elevator doors closed with a ping and a swoosh.

* * *

Something like half an hour later I was dragged - forcibly, I might add - out of a voluntary state of almost complete mental shutdown. My brain and I had enjoyed the respite, the lack of awkward, disjointed conversation and the general peace and quiet that comes hand in hand with self-maintained solitude.

The sun was still bright despite the later house; one thing that strikes you out here as a tourist is that, as we're on the West Coast, we have an uninterrupted view of the horizon and the sun as it sets - so it's almost as if the day lasts longer.

While I do _not_ spend my days in windowless cubicles like the rest of my stereotype, I don't have a great track record with the sun. Sure, it's pretty, but it causes no end of trouble when I'm doing the most innocent of things. Sleeping, reading, _looking_...

I'll admit, though, it's lovely to doze in. Not that that is at all what I was doing.

Since I'd come downstairs to the main floor of the hotel I'd resolved that it would be a good idea to find somewhere to curl up and lay low for a while. I'd ended up laid down on a sun lounger beside the pool.

By sheer luck I'd managed to snag one of the loungers furthest from the main building, hoping that it meant I'd have a few seconds' warning is anyone decided they were coming after me.

Wrong!

A tentative finger prodded me out of my semi sun-drunk state; whoever it was seemed to be aiming for delicacy but, I can tell you, was failing miserably.

Groaning indignantly and muttering something that wasn't at all coherent, I failed to comprehend whatever it was that my uninvited guest said in a tone of mild surprise. Forcing my eyes open just a little, though not managing to shield them properly from the glare, I started to squint upwards a the person, blinking repeatedly until I could see properly without patches of colour staining my vision.

I started violently when I saw sandy blonde hair and brown eyes but I needn't have jumped so much: while Mark's got his sister's temper, he does at least try to get along with me. Maybe the fact that we're both alive means we have something in common.

"Hm, Mark? Is that you?" Someone turn the lights off, dammit," I let my head fall back against the plastic mesh of the sun lounger with a soft thud.

"We're outside," he stated blankly, watching me with a contorted expression that I assumed was supposed to resemble 'nonplussed'.

"Thank you, Captain Obvious," I congratulated him, irked and blinking blearily but keeping my eyes open despite the brightness.

"Rhea, why are you out here?"

"Fewer people." I responded. "I wanted the quiet."

"Quiet?" He laughed, loud and proud. "I'm not sure I can think of anyone _less _suited to that kind of environment than you."

If I'd been a bit more together, I know I would've shot back with a perfectly witty rejoinder; as it was I settled for a combination of a yawn and shrug .

"I'm mercurial."

"Oh, you don't have to tell me."

I glared at him as I tried to stand and teetered dangerously, finding my legs to be reluctant to hold my weight, so much so that Mark automatically reached out to grab ahold of my arm to steady me. I came gradually to rest, upright and able to stand alone after a minute or so, once the my circulation got going properly. Smiling my thanks, I let him relinquish his hold and lead the way back inside the hotel - closer to inevitable doom, no doubt.

Still, I have to admit, a part of me felt relieved. When I'd first sat down outside, the few adults that were still around and not having an early dinner had given me funny looks. Perhaps it's not proper to bask in the sun when you're wearing jeans. I mean, it's not exactly conventional swimwear. I had absolutely no intention of donning the typical kind, either.

The sun felt warm on the back of my neck and shoulders as I tied my hair up in a messy kind of knot at the back of my head, ignoring the loose curl or two that made desperate bids for freedom. At the time I chose functionality over style - but only because I had no patience for perfectionism.

"So why are you _really _out here, Rhea?"

"No, no, I answered that one," I said, dropping my hand from where it hovered by my right ear, where it had just tucked a stray piece of hair, as I trudged after him. "Too many people."

I stopped in my tracks when I realised that Mark had already halted and that I'd unwittingly continued without him but I didn't turn around because I'd got the feeling that I'd just completely given the game away. The phrase _oh snap_s prang to mind.

"Jane's the only person upstairs. She's the only person you'd be avoiding by being down here. One person isn't usually too many for you. What aren't you telling me?"

_Dammit._

"Er," I answered, eloquent as always. "Surprise dinner party."

"What did you do?" he demanded, his voice becoming more abrasive and that little bit louder as he closed the distance between us and faced me.

"_I_ didn't do anything. _They_ followed _me_. I have stalkers. Multiple."

"Jesus, Rhea," he muttered, dragging a hand distracted through his hair and heading at speed for the elevator, muttering what I'm sure was a long string of choice obscenities.

_Pretty sure Jesus didn't have much to do with it,_ is what I thought but what I _said _was "Go easy on them! I don't think they need any more surprises..."

Slowly sidestepping so that I was out of the way of the main traffic pathway through the place and turning enough that my back was facing the direction Mark had disappeared in, I let out my breath in a sigh. He wouldn't glance back, I knew, he'd just keep going. For now, I was safe. Ish.

I probably should have stopped to contemplate my inevitable demise. Jane and Mark each have formidable tempers and, right then, I wasn't sure who was less happy with me. I was liable to be caught hiding behind a sofa-shaped object if the two siblings ever got it into their heads to argue. That, however, would be nothing compared to what would happen to me should the pair of them do a Marvel team-up and come after me together. There'll be a mushroom cloud above the place I once stood. They'll leave a plaque on the charred floor: 'Don't play with explosives, kids.'

A couple of kids cannon-balled into the pool at the point when that thought crossed my mind, throwing splashes cool blue water over, well, pretty much everything. I laughed gently at the indignant cries of the middle-aged women who had been lounging nonchalantly only a minute beforehand, most of whom were now considerably damp.

As one of the parents berated her son for his utter recklessness behaviour, I heard someone cough behind me. The noise sounded distant and oddly strangled - it also scared the bejesus out of me.

"Hey!" I called loudly, rather more loudly than I'd intended, "What're you trying to do, give me a..."

My voice trailed off when I met the bright, apologetic blue gaze of a short, white-haired and thoroughly embarrassed priest.

"My apologies, I didn't mean to startle you," he began, his tone sincere, "I just wondered..."

"I'm sorry but I'm not really interested in changing my long distance carrier," I preëmpted him and fumbling for words while I tried to figure out where I'd seen him before. My brain was still recovering from shock; I was lucky I managed to stop myself adding 'I also have a lifetime membership at club Atheist'.

The response I gave seemed to throw him a little. I might've had more patience if I hadn't been plagued with an insistent little voice reminding me that, in addition to Mark and Jane, there are still three people upstairs, encroaching on my space.

"We've already met," he continued awkwardly after a pause. "A few days ago, at the Mission."

_Gotcha. _"Father Dominic."

"The very same," he nodded, clearly relieved. I didn't feel the same, something was still nagging at me.

"... Didn't I nearly hang up on you half an hour ago?"

"Ah, yes," he said with his hands clasped together; somehow, he was fidgeting even more than I was. "Yes, that was me."

I'd intended to apologize for my impropriety but what came out instead was, "So it was you that sent the Robin Hood and her merry men after me?"

He winced at my phrasing. "I had hoped that Susannah would approach you with more..."

The good Father seemed to be struggling for words, so I thought it best to help him along a bit.

"Tact? Don't worry on _that _score, Father, tact isn't something I'm used to."

He blinked a few times and I watched him with a very slight smile. "So, Father, aside from your missing persons, what can I do you for?"

"Have they not explained already?" The Father tried several times to start his sentence before he eventually settled on the right words; by the time he spoke his brows had knitted together and he looked quite perplexed. I gathered that he and Susannah didn't get very far with their phone conversation before my timely interruption.

"That they thought I was being followed by a malevolent spirit that's out for my blood?" I pulled an expression as if I was considering the statement. "That's only true half the time."

That didn't seem to provide the Father with any comfort as such. If anything he looked _more _confused.

"I could have sworn I saw a woman -" he trailed off somewhat dejectedly.

"- wearing a white coat and a scowl?" I finished for him helpfully. "Yeah, that's Jane."

"So you're a mediator," he replied after a pause where he considered my words, absently watching the middle distance, deep in thought and more pleasantly surprise than bemused. I, on the other hand...

"I beg your pardon?" I raised both of my eyebrows at him questioningly.

"A mediator," he repeated softly, "you can commune with the deceased in order to help them move on."

"Huh. So I'm supposed to be something like a conductor on the train to the Other Side?" I considered this with my head tilted at a slight angle. "I never thought about it like that before."

The Father peered at me quizzically as I pondered leisurely.

"What on Earth would you use your gift for otherwise?" he queried, so gentle it was as if he wasn't entirely sure that he wanted to hear the answer.

"Furtherance of knowledge, I suppose," I shrugged, thinking vaguely of ghosts of dead pirates and long-lost treasure. "It could be far worse. I could've decided to join Scotland Yard and make a paranormal police drama out of my life." _Or started my own TV show_.

"I suppose," he concurred, sounding doubtful.

"I don't really run into many of the living-impaired, to tell you the truth. Jane's something of a special case."

"I see..." Father Dominic answered in a tone that suggested he didn't at all. I was starting to get the feeling that I should shut the hell up.

I took a breath and searched for something I could say that wouldn't just be me digging myself an even greater hole - I didn't find anything to say but I did see Mark walking towards us, looking pissed. Not the happy kind, either.

"Oh, hi, Mark," I started off, "it's been too long, really..."

As he drew up alongside us he threw me a quelling look and a 'Later, Rhea,' - _read: you're in significant trouble and there will be blood _- before holding out his hand to shake Father Dominic's.

"You must be Father Dominic. I'm Mark Lockwood, Jane's brother and Rhea's temporary guardian." The Father took Mark's proffered hand and shook it with an amicable smile and words of thanks.

"You make that sound so ominous," I muttered.

"Suze said you were likely to drop by," The Father had released his hand by now and so Mark gestured with it towards the elevator and asked if the Father would like to follow him upstairs.

I followed, on automatic pilot, a couple of paces behind the two adults. Father Dominic looked back at me in askance as Mark lead the way. I held my hands up in a sort of 'I surrender' as if it were nothing to do with me.

The ride in the elevator was uncomfortable. I don't do great in close quarters with people, especially not the ones I've ticked off recently and my discomfort was exaggerated by Mark insisting upon using meaningless platitudes to fill up our journey time. 'I hope you didn't have too far to travel, Father' and 'I hope this hasn't caused you any inconvenience'. Behind and out of sight of the both of them I rolled my eyes as the Father answered with a negative to the first and a multitude of assurances to the second. Something about the way the skin around his eyes crinkled and he smiled at the latter made me think that he is accustomed to a teenager or two causing a little unnecessary chaos.

Jane rose when she hear the door to our suite opening and strode across to greet the Father formally. She stuck out a hand and said it was a pleasure to meet him properly; he seemed a little taken aback by her relaxed attitude but otherwise was perfectly pleasant. I hung back and didn't draw attention to myself, debating the hypothetical pros of owning an invisibility cloak.

"The triumphant return," Jane turned turn me and raised an eyebrow ever so slightly. It was tempting to hold out my hand just to see if she'd automatically shake it.

"Not so much. How's the party?" I matched her soft tone, a little taken aback by the apparent lightness of her mood - one of the less variable features of Jane's character was her general attitude. I can't recall ever having heard her laugh genuinely.

"Dying down," she answered. My casual glance across the room confirmed that; there was a little small talk between Mark and our guests and even Susannah's posture seemed relaxed.

Having greeted Jane in that kindly way of his, Father Dominic walked over to the sofa that had been commandeered by Susannah, Jesse and Paul, causing the former to adopt a rabbit-in-the-headlights demeanour that I'm sure was entirely automatic.

"Tea, Father?" I asked at a lull in conversation, spying the reproachful way in which the Father watched Susannah. The offer surprised him a little but he answered with the affirmative and thanked me graciously, to which I smiled and moved towards the kitchen swiftly.

Jane followed me, arms folded in a more familiar pose than she'd been using when I'd first arrived.

"What was that about?" she asked pointedly as I flicked the switch on the kettle.

"I'm was being charitable," I told her, keeping my voice low enough that it was hidden by the gentle hubbub in the next room, "Did you see the Father's face? He's disappointed in their lack of tact. He was going to guilt them to death."

"Charity isn't like you. The melodrama, however, is you all over."

I shrugged good naturedly. "You can't trust anything I say anyway. I'm an atheist _and_ I'm biased."

"Let's try to keep philosophical and metaphysical discussions to a minimum, hm?"

I pulled a face at her. "I don't like metaphysics anyway. Too much 'meta', not enough 'physics'. It's an 'ology."

The look she gave me after that remark was not as such hostile as challenging. Lately I realised exactly what I said and ruefully thought that the lab coat should have reminded me that I was venturing into dangerous territory.

"Ah... sorry. Didn't mean to offend your specialty."

No response. My bad.

I threw together the Father's tea - with considerably more care than that turn of phrase implies, if you were wondering - and squeezed past Jane into the lounge. At least, I _tried _to: Jane grabbed the wrist of my left hand - thankfully the Father's tea was in my right.

"Wait up, I need to talk to you," she said, deliberately orienting herself so that she was directly between me and the door.

"Look, I meant it when I apologized - I love biology as much as the next girl it's just -" I stopped mid sentence because Jane's expression shifted from her neutral stance to intense amusement which, aside from being unusual, was somewhat disconcerting.

"This isn't about me demeaning your science, is it?"

"No," she affirmed, the single syllable infused with an unfamiliar kind of playful mirth.

"Today went differently than I expected," she stated, "and for once that's a good thing. When they've left, we need to talk properly. It's about time we filled you in."

I searched her face but found nothing that made me suspect her of nerves or deception She might nor trust the guys in the room adjacent to us but, even after the crap I'd given her today, she still felt able to trust me. Some deep dark corner of my brain registered that on an emotional level and felt touched, even proud. At least until the part of my brain next to it gave it a slap and told it to stop being so self-important.

"Filled me in on what?" I asked, keeping my tone low so it didn't carry.

"Not now," Jane shook her head and I fought with my disappointment, reasoning that it would only be a matter of time. As she stepped backwards I followed her, my expression uncommonly pensive.

Father Dominic accepted his mug gratefully; it was Mark that watched me with thinly veiled annoyance. I considered the irony of my circumstances: _good _terms with Jane, _not _so good terms with Mark, while absently biting my lower lip.

I was so lost in thought I almost didn't notice the empty sofa - and when I did, I stared at it as if I suspected that my eyes were playing tricks on me - until Father Dominic caught the direction of my gaze and rushed to explain.

"Ah, Susannah sends her apologies but she has family commitments," he supplied, sincerity etched in every word; he was certainly sorry that Susannah had left so abruptly, even if she herself wasn't. Truth be told I found it very difficult to imagine Father Dominic out ghost hunting because I've found that, nine times out of ten, ghosts need a good slap before they'll listen to any attempts at diplomacy, no matter how sincere.

"So I was right about Tweedledum and Tweedledee," I remarked genially on Jesse's absence, for a moment forgetting that there were people in the vicinity that might be listening to me.

There was a snort of laughter to my right and, leaning with his shoulder against the wall a few paces from the door was Paul looking deeply delighted.

"I'll be sure to tell her that," Paul smirked in a way that he'd suggested he'd enjoy messing with Susannah - and, by extension, Jesse. I gave him my best devil-may-care shrug. Start as you mean to go on, I guess.

"Anyway, I'll be off. People to see," he remarked, with faux arrogance that came a little _too _naturally if you ask me, widening his eyes to accentuate his point, before winking casually winking at Father Dominic. "S'later, Father D."

Paul then held out a hand to me. My eyebrows shot up and I did my best to look contemptuous; it didn't work - he simply continued to watch me with ever mounting amusement.

The hand he held out was palm-up, with his fingers slightly splayed; with a degree of caution I surrendered my hand and held it out so he could shake it. The grin he wore widened as he caught my hand lightly with his and, instead of shaking it, lifted it lightly to his lips with both hands and laid a delicate kiss upon it.

After what seemed like an age of silence he released my hand and I let it fall slowly, closing carefully into a fist as I did.

"Until next time," he called for a door with one last cursory glance at all of us before disappearing in the direction of the elevator.

"Uh," I answered inadequately, after he'd left. "bon voyage."

I gave Jane a sideways glance and from her expression she was about as amused as Paul had been himself. Shifting so that my body tilted away from everyone else I opened my closed right fist and looked down at the small, neatly folded piece of white paper he'd placed there.

I let a sigh but smiled despite myself, allowing my eyes to flicker towards the door that Mark walked forward to close. Perhaps straight forward normalcy just isn't for me.

* * *

_It's been a while. I'm still here - albeit less so and with a considerably busier schedule. I've not forgotten, though. Cookies for whoever still about!_

Next chapter's halfway done already. Not sure when it'll be up, though

. _Adios!_


	9. Chapter 7: Deadlines

**- - -  
Chapter 7: Deadlines  
**

Late Saturday afternoon, Carmel beach.

I was practically the only one wearing anything that could conceivably be considered clothing - but then again I'm pretty sure that I was the only one there who was not hyper-conscious about getting a tan.

I was, however, hyper conscious about melanoma, which is why I had not one but _two _bottles of sunblock with me.

I was leaning as casually as I could against the particularly uncomfortable wall of the beach shop - which was of course full of the essentials: buckets, spades, oversized beach balls, frisbees, cold 'soda' and ice-cream. I, personally, made do with the wall, uncomfortable as it was, because it created the only measurable bit of shade for who knew how long.

I had donned sunglasses for the outing, a rarity for me, and was watching a distant ocean liner traverse the blurred blue horizon as I waited. For a change I felt peaceful, more than content to wait; patience was never my strong suit but perhaps the Pacific air brought out the best in me.

As well as the necessary sunblock stash, the small bag I'd dumped carelessly at me feet contained a phone Mark could use to contact me and a couple of other bits and pieces - a girl never goes _anywhere _unprepared the most notable of which was a tiny piece of paper, creased from where it had been folded and refolded multiple times.

On that piece of paper was a date, that location (sadly not in latitude and longitude, so the whole thing felt rather a lot less like a spy film) and a time that had passed more than seven minutes ago.

I pushed the glasses up onto the top of my head so that they acted like a particularly crappy headband and closed my eyes for something like a minute. The brisk sea breeze tugged absently at my hair and I felt a little of the tension in my shoulders dissipate. Just in case you were wondering, that didn't make my patch of wall any more comfortable.

When my eyes opened again there were two people walking toward me. One was tall, dressed in a pale blue shirt that matched his eyes; the other was irritatedly dragging her long hair out of her face and trying to shield her eyes from the wind at the same time. Paul saw me before Susannah did; I saw, even at a distance, his mouth quirk in a way that suggested he'd thought up some kind of smart comment about my general person.

"Oh, hey. What's shakin', bacon?" I called out as they drew close to my little corner of shade.

"Oh, you know, the usual" Susannah answered with a little frost in her tone that didn't at all befit the glorious weather and my sunny countenance. When I raised a questioning eyebrow Paul smirked and coughed _'tweedledee' _into a hand in a poor show of subtlety.

I swung my gaze on him accusingly. I wasn't sure whether I was more irritated with his having told her about my comment on her relationship with Jesse or with my not having guessed that he'd do just that simply to screw with me.

"Okay, so I guess we got off on the wrong foot," I said by way of apology, though it would probably have been more accurate to say that we got off on the wrong limb altogether, "how about we agree that _he" _I jerked a thumb in Paul's general direction, "a jackass and go from there?"

Susannah frowned in contemplation for a second, swept her gaze over Paul and then shrugged amicably. "Works for me."

I grinned, just in case Paul had missed my victory. Beyond rolling his eyes he had no prepared response for me, so I proceeded unchallenged.

"So," I began slowly, "either of you care to tell me why it is I'm melting out here?" With my tone conversational, I was hoping to draw out the innocuous talk and ease our way into the sticky ghost stuff.

"Ease, mostly, I guess," Suze shrugged. "No-one out here will ask questions, we're just another group of teenagers. I couldn't exactly introduce you to my mother as the new girl at school."

"Exchange student," Paul supplied lazily, his eyes elsewhere as if he weren't paying any attention to either of us.

"Steady on, boy-o, wouldn't want to strain that brain of yours," I quipped, having accepted Susannah's reasoning without, I think, showing how much fun I thought it would be watching her explain my presence to her mother. Paul looked down at me with a cocked eyebrow; I stared back stoically, daring him to reply. When he didn't, I figured it'd be better to just prod the conversation along myself.

"Down to business, then," I readjusted a stray bit of hair and widened my eyes at the floor, not that it was at all in a position to save me from any potentially awkward questions. "first off: _yes_, Jane is always like that."

It wasn't a question that Suze was gonna ask me out loud, I guessed, I got the feeling that she was a mite too polite for that. Answering it meant that she'd be better prepared the next time they met, though, so when Jane suddenly goes psycho she'll be in a better position to duck and cover.

"I found the conversation the other day a bit..." Susannah started out well but trailed off, searching for an adequate word.

"Circular?" I suggested helpfully.

"Yeah," she agreed somewhat hesitantly, a frown darkening her face. It seemed to unnerve her that I never showed any reluctance to contradict or undermine Jane, whether the doctor was there with me or not. "I'm not sure I got a straight answer out of Jane."

"Good luck," I laughed derisively."I've been trying for months. Blood from a stone and all that."

"Why were you looking for me?" she cut to the chase, which was something of a relief for me.

"Not the foggiest," I answered, not quite as truthfully as I might have liked. "I know they were searching for people like me, and I know that you were the only other match they found. Kinda got four for one, though. Little more than I bargained for, I can tell you."

"Searching for _mediators_?"

I wrinkled my nose in something similar to disgust. "That word again. I'm no diplomat, I assure you."

"Why the hell would you need to search for other mediators?" she continued, oblivious to the fact that I was shuffling restlessly from foot to foot. "What could you possibly want us for?"

"_Them_, not me." I corrected, a little sharply. "I'm just along for the ride."

"'They'?" Paul interjected.

"Jane and co. Mark too, I suppose."

"'and co.'?" he pressed, his tone harder than before.

"Dude, take a sodding chill pill. Jane's old colleagues. You thought she worked in a research lab on her own? Don't be a prat. She was the driving force of the operation but she was partnered with other researchers, neurologists and the like. Once she died the whole thing was shelved, their notes, test results, everything were just left to gather dust. All the data was dismissed as an obscure branch of quackery. None of them even knew she'd found me, so far as I'm aware."

"They were obviously worth mentioning," Susannah contributed for the first time in several minutes. I threw my hands up, stung that I'd apparently lost my only ally and we weren't even ten minutes in.

"They were all part of it, in the beginning. Not anymore. They were all reassigned. If you're worried that some mad doctor's coming to conduct brain surgery on one or all of you, you can relax. Jane's the only one you have to worry about and surgery isn't exactly within her skill set."

That quietened the Spanish Inquisition enough to allow me to exhale as calmly as I could manage under those circumstances. I dragged my eyes away from my two companions and noted that the ocean liner I'd been watching earlier had moved halfway across the horizon without my noticing. _I guess it's nice that somebody's getting somewhere,_I thought bitterly. It wasn't just the open suspicion in both Paul and Susannah's voices that was getting to me, I was pretty annoyed that, after fighting so long for full disclosure for myself I was hiding exactly the same information from a person who probably deserved to know just as much as I did.

"Why did you come?" Paul prodded, discontent to leave questions unanswered, his expression mildly curious but unyielding.

"I was bored. I'm the adventurous type. It's California. Take your pick."

"No you're not," he persisted, orienting his body so that he faced me head-on, a rather more aggressive stance than I was happy with. "You're fully aware that you'd live a more peaceful life without your doctor friend."

At that point Susannah elbowed him in the ribs, hard. The glance he spared her was chilling, even in the sweltering sunlight. When he switched his icy stare back on me I'd folded my arms defensively and raised an eyebrow. From first impressions I'd expected him to be forthright, even abrasive, but I hadn't expected an approach to open hostility. Underneath all that cool demeanour there was something about me, and most probably about Mark and Jane too, that he didn't like or trust. I just can't imagine why.

"I'm secretly a a humanitarian," I told him, biting back the verbal reprimands that hand sprung to mind automatically. "I'm just _really_good at hiding it. Do you always expect ulterior motived when people do nice things or is it just me you don't consider trustworthy?"

My words hung in the air for a time before Susannah regained control of herself and stopped us from proceeding any further.

"Okay, you two. Quit it before someone gets hurt."

Paul didn't seem as if he were willing to surrender and I certainly wasn't about to admit defeat to the guy. I would quite happily have gone several more rounds with the guy but I'm sure that if things had panned out like that Susannah would more than happily have banged both our heads together.

"He's got a point, though." Susannah continued, grimacing even as she said so. "Why did Jane bring you when she could have just found me herself? Ghosts travel a whole lot faster than planes."

"Not the unreliable ones," I muttered.

Susannah then began scrutinizing me, and I began to feel as if I were being conspired against. I might've cried 'Mutiny!' had I been a 17th century pirate captain - as it was, I was a 21st century teenager and I would gain absolutely nothing by losing my cool.

"I wasn't kidding about the humanitarian thing," I said after a pause, hugging myself tightly and glowering at nobody in particular. "When I met her, Jane was a complete mess. From what I gather, she managed to scare both herself and her brother stupid before either of them realised that she was dead.

"She didn't find me right away. All she had was a name and an address, no picture, so I could've been anyone. She turned up in the middle of the night screaming and crying, saying that no-one could hear her and that her brother had tried to attack her. Jesus, it took forever for me to wrestle her _name_out of her."

"Didn't really take to being dead, then." Paul stated with nothing even remotely resembling sympathy in his tone at all. I watched him though slightly narrowed eyes; later I'd note how I'd immediately risen to Jane's defense and how strangely uncharacteristic of me that was, but at that moment all I could really think about was how delightful it would be to stamp on Paul's face while wearing a pair of chunky hiking boots or something.

"No, not as such," _Captain Obvious,_ I added in my head. "It took five phone calls to get Mark to agree to hear me out and a lot longer to convince him to meet with Jane without either believing he was wacko or trying to bury a stake in her heart. Family baggage and all that. The _needed_someone to keep the peace."

"Oh," Paul laughed and somehow managed to keep his voice sardonic. "You're good at that."

"Bite me," I countered with conviction, acutely aware of how feeble a retort that was by comparison.

"If you can't play nicely go and get a soda or something," Susannah hissed at Paul, her feathers all ruffled.

I resisted the urge to make a derogatory comment as he acquiesced despite the fact that the way he simply did as he was told was hilarious to me. Whether she was aware of it or not Susannah seemed to hold some sway over Paul - sure he'd toy with her, mess her about and generally try to piss her off as much as possible but I sensed that if she genuinely needed something he'd be there, even if only to ensure she was indebted to him.

"He's an ass," Susannah said, by way of explanation and apology.

"He's a dick," I corrected, "and he doesn't seem to like people very much."

"You seriously followed a brother and sister halfway across the world to stop them bickering?"

"No, I did it for kicks," I rolled my eyes, despite regretting how condescending my unchecked tone was. "that and they _asked_me."

Nothing I said seemed to make the slightest bit of difference to her opinion of me; she didn't look very happy, to be honest, so I shook my head slowly and let out a long breath.

"Don't beat yourself up, we're an auspicious trio. Occupational hazard."

At that, Susannah gave me a rueful smile that was almost reminiscent of Father Dominic.

"I know the feeling," she sighed, orienting herself so that we were stood side by side facing the ocean. It felt strangely comforting to talk candidly with someone similar; I can't say that I share too much in common with people my own age or even Mark, save for the general feeling of despair that the latter and I exchange when Jane materializes in a foul mood.

"My Dad died when I was six," Susannah continued, apparently surprising herself as much as me with her willingness to share. "Then he came back. He wasn't my first ghost but he was the first that made any sense." She shrugged. "I moved out here with my mother after she married my step dad."

"Where, I'm sure, you promptly joined the Paranormal Society, right? I'd figured I was a one-off until I met Mark and Jane, but Mark's was the only other person I'd met who could talk to ghosts without being dead himself."

"'Paranormal Society'? she gave me an odd sideways look that might have been amusement.

"Yes," I affirmed, my tone defensive but light. I've been here less than a week and I've met four of you. I'm surprised you don't have a local newsletter and coffee socials. Between the four of you I dread to think what's stashed in this town's closet."

She laughed. "Nothing more than the average, I suppose. We've got some great dinner party stories, though."

Something in her expression said that she shouldn't be doubted there - that gave me the inkling that she was only half joking. Prying never got me anywhere so I quirked an eyebrow but didn't challenge her.

"Where is tall, dark and silent, anyway?" I asked, overwhelmed by abrupt, impatient curiosity.

"Who, Jesse?" she blinked at me, uncomprehendingly, apparently taken unawares.

"Yeah. You brought the bulldog instead of the boyfriend. How come?"

"You could say that, I suppose," Susannah's face morphed from wry amusement to contemplation before she shrugged, noncommittal. "He's got a lot to sort out."

I watched her intently, vaguely surprised. She'd avoided looking directly at me when she answered and her fingers twitched ever so slightly on one hand. It was education, for certain, to watch her try to cover up her lie with a nondescript aura of composure.

"You didn't tell him that you were coming, did you?"

She met my eyes then, and I felt triumphant at having guessed correctly. "No."

"Not Paul's biggest fan, is he?"

"No," she repeated, resigned that time. I figured that pushing her any further than that would be impolite; I don't usually give a rat's ass about social etiquette but Susannah had played the caring-and-sharing card so I was going along with it. Besides, it was bad enough having to cover up the true extent of my knowledge with white lies - I didn't want to provoke or insult her any further, whether she'd guessed that I was withholding details or not.

"You know you're pretty unconventional, even for a mediator." she stated, the first piece of what could almost be called banter that she'd sent my way. _Finally_. My comfort zone.

Taking 'mediator' in this instance to mean 'general communicator with the dead' I responded. "For people like us, conventionalism isn't really an option."

For the second time, she laughed. "You don't need to tell me that."

A muffled buzzing almost cut Susannah off. I jumped half a mile in the air before realising that a) the source of the noise was completely harmless and b) that it was me anyway.

"I'm vibrating," I stated blankly, without moving.

"You think?" she responded dryly. "Aren't you gonna get that?"

As I bent down to open my bag and drag out my phone, I pressed a finger to my lips. For a fraction of a second Susannah looked as if someone had told her to stand on her head but the realisation that I'd not told Mark and Jane where I was going sank in quickly enough, thank God. Sadly, the fact that I was getting a call and not a visit meant that it was the living counterpart of the brother-sister duo and therefore it was undoubtedly the more pissed of the two siblings. Apparently trust is hard to come by in this town.

"Oh, Mark. _Salute_. How's tricks?"

"Rhea, we've talked about this," I'm sure he didn't say that because he went off on a tirade, only half of which I understood, but that was the root and the gist of it. I tried to be attentive as best I could (read: I didn't succeed). "Where are you?"

"One of the better student bars in town. Happy Hour starts in twenty minutes," I told him cheerfully. Susannah looked torn between incredulity and hysterical laughter. Thankfully the hand the covered her mouth with muffled any noise she made sufficiently that Mark couldn't hear her at all.

"Firstly: there _are_no decent student bars - anywhere. That's why they're student bars. Secondly, you're not legally allowed to drink over here. Or back home, for that matter. Lastly, it's just gone 11am."

"It's 7pm somewhere," I sighed before pressing ahead. "Do you know how much of a wet blanket you are?" I wrinkled my nose despite not being able to see his expression.

"Rhea, _we need you here._Not running about Carmel wreaking havoc."

"I object to your terminology," I said, acting affronted. "I don't create havoc. I just exacerbate natural entropy,"

"Quit messing about. Either make your own way back or I'll come looking for you."

"Bring your roadmap and try not to get stuck in any bars. Good luck, soldier!" I hung up and let out a breath all in a rush.

"Do you do that on purpose?" Susannah asked me, quietly. I couldn't tell whether she was curious or suspicious or both; it didn't really matter either way, I suppose, as I had no idea what she was talking about anyway.

"Um," I said, "what?"

"Wind people up like that..." she trailed off uncertainly.

"Oh," I pondered the question and then shrugged it off."More often than not."

"Why not just say where you are?"

"Why not just ask me outright to meet you?"

I watched her expression as she considered that before she answered. "Father Dominic might've had a coronary."

"Altruism." I laughed. "Brings out the worst in all of us."

"What's your excuse?" She'd raised an eyebrow. It was almost like looking at a taller version of myself.

"The only thing worse than taking a car rise with Mark while he's ticked is being locked in the same room as him for hours on end." I shrugged, smiling lopsidedly. "Besides, do I really need a reason to want to mess with a guy who takes himself too seriously?"

"I suppose not," she responded with the slightest trace of a smile.

"Anyway, that's my cue to leave," I told her, perhaps a little unceremoniously. The unembellished was I stated it seemed to surprise her; she blinked a few times then frowned at me.

"I thought..."

"Sometimes the best way to mess with someone is to do exactly what they ask. He'll not expect me to co-operate." And I needed to get back sooner rather than later to ensure that I actually survived Mark's wrath.

"You're totally backwards." she told me, bemused.

"A little bit," I acceded. "but I really do have to be off. You know, people to avoid. Give Paul a swift kick for me, won't you?"

Susannah looked at me, her expression almost critical. The way she stared was intense enough to make me sorely uncomfortable and I began to think that maybe she was seeing things in me - and I had no clue as to exactly what things they might be - that I'd rather remained carefully locked away. The very least of those was my growing list of white lies. TO my relief all she did was pull out a thin piece of paper upon which her phone number was written.

"Just in case," she said.

"I'm a bit disappointed that we're not gonna be using smoke signals," I told her.

"You mean you wouldn't prefer Morse Code?" she folded her arms and regarded me with a challenge in her eyes; I laughed.

"Nah, I'm far more retro than that."

"Then you were born a few decades late."

I shrugged, affecting flippancy. "That's okay, my DeLorean's parked just around the corner."

I smiled innocently as she shook her head and glanced down at my wrist, then, as if I might actually find a watch there - unlikely, considering I never wore the damn things anyway.

"Great Scott, would you look at the time. Must dash. _Bon voyage!_"

I lifted my bag up and dropped the strap over my right shoulder, gave Susannah my custom, casual single-fingered salute then turned and walked away, the sun at my back.

* * *

I _did _text Mark my location. In latitude and longitude, but that's neither here nor there, really.

He found me easily enough. I'm not sure if that's because I stick out like a sore thumb or because he has become especially attuned to me - I rather hope it's the former, as dismaying as that is, because the latter is just plain creepy.

I was frogmarched back to the Pebble Beach Hotel, then, while Mark walked in brooding silence. I tell you, Mark's company when he's in a mood is more than enough to make me long for the dulcet, sarcastic tones of Jane.

As usual after entering or suite, I dropped my bag carelessly and headed straight for the kitchen - of course when I get home there's a one-track train in my head: _need caffeine _- and, as usual, my way was barred by an unrelenting ghost.

"Explain, if you'd be _so_kind." Jane said with more demand than askance in her tone.

"In my defence, I-"

"No excuses," Mark interjected. "not anymore."

I threw at look at him over my shoulder. "_I_was helping," I answered, not apologetic in the least.

Jane laughed darkly. "You always say that."

"With an earnest, optimistic expression and generally a lot less innocence than I'm aiming for," I agreed. "This time I'm serious. Susannah wanted a heart-to-heart."

"What?" Mark started violently, stepped towards me and put a hand on my shoulder to try to turn me towards him. I turned my gaze on him and raised an eyebrow, daring him challenge me, but all he did was scrutinize my expression and then look away, perplexed. Jane didn't take as long as her brother to assess me and surmise that I wasn't slipping them a falsehood; she'd got her doctor's head on and was compiling a list of questions.

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"Oh, _please_. You would've gone down there in force and either scared them off started off some sort of war. The reason they asked _me_there was so that there'd only be one of me. Three of us is a potential threat. Paul wouldn't have slipped me this in secret if they'd really bought the oh-we're-just-visiting thing."

To be honest, _I _wouldn't have bought that story. In fact, if two 'mediators' and a ghost had shown up on my doorstep I'd have slammed the door, barred it and run like hell in the opposite direction - but that's just me and I'm antisocial.

After I'd spoken I pulled out the paper Paul had given me and held it out. Mark was the one who took it, gingerly, just in case it took his head off, as paper is wont to do. While he unfolded it carefully I slipped past Jane and into a glorious stack of cushions littering one of the sofas.

"You should've said where you were going," Jane berated me after a pause in which she'd take no interest in her brother or the note he held, though compared to her usual standard, she was only doing so halfheartedly.

With a heaved sigh I pulled myself up into something resembling a sitting position and crossed my legs so that I had both stability _and _comfort on my side.

"No." I answered simply.

"No?" Jane arched an eyebrow at me and even Mark's eyes lifted a fraction so that he might survey me over the edge of the paper he held.

"No," I confirmed. "That close encounter gave her no confidence in us. Going in solo was better than getting the troops together and freaking her the hell out."

"And why is that?" Jane asked me, in full adult mode now. This time, though, I had a reason for ignoring them, and I'm nothing if not willing to fight my corner when it comes to it.

"Because you've no idea how to approach someone and ask for help. Because I'm her age and I can empathize. Because, unlike anyone else, I was willing to level with her and answer her questions properly. And it's a bloody miracle that _that_worked considering that for half of it I was lying."

A pause. It couldn't have been more awkward had there been weird lift music playing; I barely noticed that, though. The fact that I'd had to lie to Susannah had angered me a lot more than even I'd realised and as a result my delivery was somewhat more venemous than I'd intended.

"Lying? About what?" Jane treaded cautiously, choosing every word with care, it was plain to see.

"I told her I didn't know why we'd come for her. I said that I didn't have the foggiest what you were trying to accomplish beyond that. I also left out our visitor from the other day."

After the Father and his three ducklings had left the other day, Jane had near enough had a breakdown. So much so, in fact, that Mark never really had a chance to yell at me for derailing his neatly preplanned train of events. Jane stood over by the door to my bedroom and stared out of the window for a moment that, I'm convinced, could have lasted years. As in I might have had cause to buy hair dye before she decided to speak.

"We had a visitor earlier," she'd said, finally. My response was nothing short of spectacularly witty, of course.

"Er, yeah. We had four. So glad you noticed."

"No, no." She'd begun to pace by that point. I did what I always do: I treated Jane's obvious sign of nervousness as a sign of the end of the world. "The door. You heard him."

"'Him'?" I'd had trouble remembering exactly what it was Jane was getting at until she mentioned something about us mistaking the noise for Mark returning. I'd frowned, shaken my head until I was dizzy and made wordless noises of confusion before I finally figured out what she was on about.

"What, you mean our disruptive neighbour? We should really file a complaint or something."

"He wasn't one of our neighbours," Jane hissed at me, entirely unappreciative my slightly muddled state of mind.

"What the hell are you talking about?" My brain had been hurting from the sheer volume of people in such an enclosed space so I wasn't totally on form. That's my excuse and I'm sticking to it."I was right there. You told me-"

"I _lied_," she said emphatically.

"Why?" I'd still been frowning at her because I couldn't at all work out what she was getting at or why she was telling me when I plainly couldn't do a sodding thing about it.

"He left a _message_. " The emotional undercurrents in her tone put me off at that point; she sounded stressed, almost panicked, and she'd paced while she talked. Jane had been a world away from the vision-of-calm I'm accustomed to.

"Yeah," I'd answered. Drowsy and struggling to regain what little focus I had left, I'd not been quite so understanding as I might've been had I had a few more wits about me. "did he leave a fruit basket too?"

"He _knows_ me Rhea! Now sit up, listen to me and _for God's sake_quit it with the sarcasm before I take it into my head to knock some sense into yours!"

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph," I muttered "Keep your knickers on."

I'd been taken aback, not just by the fact she'd lied about something that had seemed so irrelevant at the time. That time, the panic in her voice had been abundantly evident. Jane was afraid.

"Let's go again from the top," I'd started slowly. "Did you see his face? Could he see you?"

"I don't know," she bit her lip. "Maybe not. No, I don't think so. And I didn't get a good look at his face, just the back of his head as he left." Jane had paused then, folded her arms and forced herself to breathe slowly and evenly. Old habits die hard, I guess.

"And how do you know this guy's looking for trouble if ou didn't see his face and you don't think he saw you?"

"The note he left," she'd waved a hand in the general direction of Mark, who slid a small, ivory piece of card across the coffee table to me, expression pensive.

I'd taken it, admittedly with some reluctance, and turned it over. The writing was all upper case, carefully scripted and very neat.

_DOCTOR LOCKWOOD TO THE ER, STAT_

I'd looked from the slip of card to Jane, to Mark and back again, quizzical.

"I've had a message like that before," Jane had said in answer to my unasked question. "It came through as a text message as I was leaving the lab, the night I died."

I'd opened my mouth to respond to that but nothing came out, quite the oddity for me. Jane had quickly resumed her pacing but all I did was put the card on the table and push it away with a tentative finger.

"That doesn't make sense, though," I'd said after a moment. "You're not even that kind of doctor."

"You're missing the point, as usual," Jane all but spat. "It's not the _what_ that's important right now so much as the _who_."

"I take it that you think this is the same guy, then?" I'd asked sceptically, making a broad sweeping gesture in the direction of the coffee table where the note sat.

"Yes." Jane had responded immediately and seemed confident in her assertion, even if she wasn't at all at home with the situation.

"I suppose the question is, then, how the hell he knew you were here," I'd paused to consider my own question but Mark was already shaking his head.

"No," he disagreed, " the question is how he knew she'd come back as a ghost."

Nothing much had been said after that. _'Busted!'_just didn't quite cover the situation enough. That was probably the reason why Mark had had a fit over my leaving the hotel the hotel unaccompanied again, y'know, just in case I managed to get myself offed by some psychopathic doctor-dropping thug.

"So, c'mon, hit me up," I told Jane and Mark from my semi-comfy position on the sofa, "how many words synonymous with 'reckless' can you fit into the next ten minutes?"

_Insouciant, careless, devil-may-care, thoughtless, hasty, foolhardy, irresponsible..._

"You did the right thing,"Jane said pointedly but not unkindly. I'm not sure who between Mark and I showed more surprise.

"You can't seriously think so that," Mark was looking at his sister as if she'd grown another head. I had to remind myself that is was, in fact, a sombre moment and so it would most certainly _not _be appropriate to fist pump the air in my victory. It also took an enormous effort for me to stop myself from reminding Mark that disagreeing with the dead is very, very insensitive.

"You don't have to like it but I'm perfectly serious," Jane replied curtly to her brother. "Suze - all of them, in fact - are far more likely to respond to us if they're on good terms with someone they can talk to."

"There's no accounting for her taste," I supplied cheerfully.

Mark shifted awkwardly as if readying himself to say something else; Jane quelled him with a look.

"Save it," she told him shortly. I looked away, avoiding the conflict, for once. Mark didn't respond - that did not at all mean that he had nothing to say on the matter. I could feel the storm coming.

"Other than that," I began sharply, in order to drag everybody's attention away from the mounting tension in the room, "nothing else happened."

"Nothing?" Jane prompted, looking dissatisfied; I couldn't tell whether it was with me or Mark or the fact that my information download was over.

"Nothing we didn't know already," I affirmed, _like how Paul's an asshat_,"so, what now?"

"What do you mean?" Jane was eyeing me like I might spontaneously combust which, I think, would have been a cool party trick.

"Well, we found Susannah. Plus three. What's phase two of this grand plan of yours?

Jane and Mark exchanged looks that didn't, as such, fill me with confidence.

"You _do _have a master plan... right?" My voice trailed off at the end of the question; I'd been slightly distracted by Mark who stood and left - only to visit the kitchen, but that's beside the point. He clearly had no interest in continuing the discussion with me - or Jane, for that matter.

"I guess it's irrelevant now," Jane sighed. as she sat down on the sofa opposite me she smoothed her trousers, not that it really mattered, ending up leaning forward slightly with her hands resting on her knees.

"Why?" We'd only just gotten there, really. Inherent stubbornness meant I was not ready to, uh, _give up the ghost_just then.

"Our visitor. He's one of the reasons we were trying to keep a low profile, we didn't really want anyone knowing what we were up to-"

"You knew there was a possibility he'd find us? Jesus, are you mad? Three adolescents and a priest I can handle but some rogue psycho is another matter."

"It wasn't important at the time, we couldn't really say for certain whether anyone was keeping tabs on us," Mark said as he leaned against the kitchen door frame.

Huh, had been my exact thought. So Mark had known as well. Damn the pair of them.

"Now we _do_know, I guess the first thing to do is find out who he is and how he knows what he knows."

"Oh, excellent plan," I said, sardonic. "You got his ID or something, right? A fingerprint? Was he wearing a licence plate?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Mark shot back.

"Back at you. It's going to be just a little bit hard to find him if you've got nothing to go on. Time for a new plan."

"Any suggestions?" Jane asked me, somewhat sourly. When I remained silent she nodded, unsurprised. "Thought not."

I paused thoughtfully, contemplating our situation. Having some random guy out looking for us didn't change things, I mused, so what ever secret mission we were there to carry out was still on. We had too many questions, though, that was the problem: too many questions, too few answers.

"Why you?" I asked Jane. "Why did he come after you?"

"Because he's deranged?" she supplied, her tone scathing. I took no notice.

"No, I mean the first time. Aside from you being, well," I faltered when she pinned me with her most predatory stare and shrugged defensively, "you, there was no real reason to give you a swift kick onto the next plane of existence."

"Your research," I shrugged again and dragged a hand through my hair absently.

"You think he killed me to get a paper out of some guy who thought he saw dead people?"

"He _did_see dead people," I corrected, "and think about it. If he knew about ghosts and he wasn't trying to steal your research then - what if he was trying to cover it up? With you dead there'd be no-one brave enough to go searching for fund money. You saw, the whole thing was shelved. On the other hand if you came back as a ghost and started talking to people, that would give him cause to come after you."

"I suppose so," Jane considered me carefully, "how did he know exactly where we are, though?"

"Ouija board?" I suggested, fresh out of reasonable ideas.

"Be serious."

"I _was_," I muttered under my breath, "Fine. Supposing he can't see ghosts himself, it wouldn't have been too hard to find you if he knew your name. From there he'd find Mark and, considering that I started visiting Mark after you'd died, it wouldn't be too hard to start trailing me, either. If he _can _see people like you, then the problem gets a lot simpler. He'd just have to tail you and whoever you were with."

I would've pushed for a response but Jane's brewing disagreement with Mark was made her oversensitive to the pretty much everything that came out of my mouth. I was aiming for being amiable - with limited success.

"So..." I began, slowly.

"So?"

"_So_, I'm playing by your rules now. Ball's in your court, doc. What do we do next?"

* * *

Across Carmel, Susannah Simon had arrived home after a day that had been much less trying than she'd anticipated - apart from the bit where Brad had collared her halfway up the stairs to throw a half-baked insult her way. She shrugged it off like the professional she was and continued to the safe sanctuary of her bedroom, where she dumped her things and sat down on the over-ostentatious bed that she'd somehow come to love.

She'd not been sat more than two minutes before her phone rang noisily.

Releasing a breath she stood and crossed the room to the stand that her phone stood on, making a mental not to invest in caller ID at some point in the near future. At first all she heard was a lot of rustling and flapping, rather like a bird that had just lost its balance and fallen off a roof.

"Hello?" she called, somewhat bemused and a tiny bit annoyed.

More shuffling. "Hello?" she called louder, fighting rising irritation.

"Susannah, hello? You're there? Oh, good," Father Dominic sounded so flustered that Susannah forgot all about her annoyance. It didn't take too much to get the Father in a flap but by the sound of it he was close to having a nervous breakdown.

"I'm here," she affirmed, "What is it? You don't sound too hot,"

"Ah. Yes," By the sound of his voice alone Suze knew he was close to breaking point; at the back of her mind she wondered whether he'd broken into his pack of cigarettes yet. "We have something of a situation..."

"Care to elaborate?" She inspected each of her fingernails while Father Dominic danced around the issue, glad that they were talking over the phone instead of in person because it gave her at least a partial illusion of her being patient.

"I was just browsing - you know, surfing, that's what it's called, isn't it? - the internet, and, ah, you see -"

Susannah was just about to tell the Father that he was far better off phoning technical support - or her youngest stepbrother, who probably knew more about computers anyway - when he stopped mid-sentence and sighed sadly.

"Susannah, are you still there?"

"I'm still here, Father D."

"You remember Bryce, don't you, Susannah? Bryce Martinson. He attended the Mission when you first arrived." Father Dominic seemed to be trying to hold it together as best he could to ensure he explained properly but there was nothing at all in his voice that gave the inkling that what he had to say was good news.

"Bryce?" Susannah blinked, surprised. "Sure, I remember him. Why?" The memory of Bryce brought with it, unbidden, the memory of Heather, Queen Psycho herself, one ghost that Susannah was hugely relieved to be rid of.

"Because," Father Dominic started miserably, "Bryce was found dead this afternoon."

* * *

_TWO chapters within a month of one another, are you mad? Yes, quite possibly! These two I kinda wrote together, though, so it's only fitting that they roll out one after the next. Not sure as yet when I'll return, with any luck it'll be soon. Until then, folks, I've left cookies out on the review desk. Feel free to nibble & scribble!_


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